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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28691574">Apotheosis</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikaru9/pseuds/wargoddess9'>wargoddess9 (hikaru9)</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/snakeandmoon/pseuds/Z%20A%20Dusk'>Z A Dusk (snakeandmoon)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Bittersweet Ending, Blasphemy, Blow Jobs, Catholic Guilt, Catholicism, Collabs, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley is Good at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Dark Crowley (Good Omens), Enemies to Lovers, Exorcisms, Finding Freedom, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Period-Typical Homophobia, Possession, Priest Aziraphale (Good Omens), Priest Kink, Priest and Demon, Self-Doubt, Shame, Supernatural Elements, The Author Regrets Nothing, blasphemous smut, dubcon, emotionally satisfying ending that might make you cry, fic with art, happy ending depending how you look at it?, in one specific chapter, oh so much blasphemy, sin - Freeform, there will be a content warning, very inappropriate use of annointed oil, yeah that's about it</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:41:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>26,655</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28691574</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikaru9/pseuds/wargoddess9, https://archiveofourown.org/users/snakeandmoon/pseuds/Z%20A%20Dusk</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s 1955 and Father Aziraphale Fell has been called to preside over an exorcism in the tiny village of Crosswell. He’s confident in his faith and abilities … but something is wrong. The demon is unusually strong, and Aziraphale can’t shake the feeling that something has accompanied him home from the ritual. Haunted by a dark presence that knows his every deepest desire, will Father Fell stay true to his calling as a priest, or will he let himself succumb to temptation, and freedom? </p><p>A story of possession, desire, and casting off the shackles of both Heaven and Hell.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>462</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>285</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Bittersweet Good Omens, Top Crowley Library</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Hypostasis</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A collaboration with the ridiculously talented <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikaru9/pseuds/hikaru9">Hikaru9</a>, whose art of priest Aziraphale and demon Crowley shot me in the heart and left me no choice but to write about them <i>immediately</i>.</p><p>Thanks as always to my wonderful beta <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraworos/">Mira Woros</a> for excellent feedback, adding lines that made me cry (even though I'm the author), and for encouraging me!</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Father Fell is confident in his abilities as an exorcist, but when he encounters an unusually strong demon he can't help the feeling that something is amiss. The demon knows his deepest desires and guilt - will it shake his faith? And was this a successful exorcism, or the start of something unspeakable?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p> </p><p>
  <b>Crosswell Village, Wiltshire, October 1955</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale had been the exorcist for Crosswell Parish for as long as he’d been its priest. There was little call for an exorcist in a tiny Wiltshire parish, so he could easily fit it in with his other duties. He’d only been called on to act as an exorcist once in the twenty years since he took up the post, as a young priest of just twenty-five years old. Sometimes he was requested to assist with an exorcism elsewhere in the country - and once he’d been asked to travel to Italy for a particularly challenging case - but his home parish seemed to be largely free of undue demonic influence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His brethren often joked that he was a blessing to his parish, for the place had the kind of welcoming atmosphere that made tourists comment about how peaceful it was, and how much they wished they lived there. Though no one standing outside the door of Highclere Cottage and hearing the terrible moaning and screaming from inside would feel so on that particular day. Aziraphale turned to his four assistants, all priests from nearby parishes whom he personally trusted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let us trust God in all things,” he said, to a murmur of agreement and prayer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God will guide us,” Newt agreed, with a gentle smile. Father Newton Pulsifer was considerably younger than Aziraphale, but he had a steady, kind presence that calmed the most ruffled heart. Aziraphale was glad to have Newt by his side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale offered up a silent prayer for guidance, calm and peace before knocking on the door. He had no time for exorcists who favoured wild gesticulation and bellowing incantations as if they and the demon were in a shouting match. Exorcism didn’t work because you said the right prayers. It worked because you had the right faith.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Father Fell, come in, come in.” Mrs Young was pale and drawn with worry. She’d been so embarrassed when she approached him for help. He’d done his best to reassure her as they’d talked, and he’d questioned her to ascertain if there could be any other cause for her daughter's troubles. Many cases of possession turned out to be epilepsy, or poor mental health. In most circumstances, he would conduct a thorough interview with the apparently possessed person, too, but there was no need here. One look at Sarah Young’s twisted countenance, inhumanly arched posture, and the three vivid red claw marks across her chest, told him all he needed to know. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now then, dear girl. You are having a rough time of it. Let’s see if we can get you feeling better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t entirely convinced she could hear him, but sometimes a little human reassurance at the start helped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sarah gave him a malevolent look, but Aziraphale was calm. He hadn’t failed an exorcism yet, and tonight would not be the night. God would reign supreme over evil.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Making the sign of the cross, he sprinkled holy water to protect himself and his assistants, and began the Litany of the Saints.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <em>
    <span>Lord, have mercy on us.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Christ, have mercy on us.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Lord, have mercy on us.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Christ, hear us.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Christ, graciously hear us.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>As he intoned the words, Sarah writhed and growled, spitting words at him in what seemed to be ancient Sumerian. Mrs Acton and Ms. Littleton, two members of the church known for their steady natures and discretion, were tasked with holding the young lady while she fought with all the strength of the evil spirit inside her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale stepped forward and made the sign of the cross on her forehead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me how many of you possess this young woman?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I command you in the Lord’s name, reveal yourself.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One,” hissed a menacing voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The temperature in the room plummeted, but Aziraphale continued his questions as if they were having a chat over tea. He hoped Sarah would find it soothing to hear a calm, warm voice. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Why have you possessed this innocent? What power compels you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To ssssecure more innocent souls for Hell.” The words ground out as Sarah’s eyes turned wild and glassy, gritting her teeth as if every word burned. “No one daresss compel me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale took a steadying breath. He could feel the quiet centeredness of his team around him, and Sarah deserved someone with complete faith, not someone who would be intimidated by a demon. Holding his faith before him like a shield, Aziraphale looked calmly in Sarah’s eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leave therefore now, Seducer! The desert is your home. The serpent is your dwelling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At this point, Aziraphale could usually feel the presence of the demon, but shielded by his faith, his assistants, and most of all by God, he knew the demon could not actually touch or harm him. So why was something prickling up the back of his neck, like nails scratching against his skin?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be humiliated and cast down. The time cannot be put off. Behold the victorious Lord is near and quick. The fire is burning before him and devours all his enemies.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sensation intensified, until Aziraphale felt like his midsection was full of tiny hooks, dragging him forward, away from God and towards the darkness. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I know you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. A voice whispered inside his mind. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Does God know what you dream of in the dark, when you think no one can see?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“For, even though you have deceived men, you cannot make a mockery of God. From His eyes nothing is hidden: He has ejected you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was breathing hard now, forcing the words out as they choked him, as if he could not bear the holiness in his mouth. Placing one hand on Sarah’s forehead, he grasped his cross with the other and proclaimed, with all the faith he had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All things are subject to His power: He has expelled you. I command you leave this innocent, in the Lord’s name!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was an inhuman laugh, like scales scraping on metal, that came from all corners of the room at once. For a second the girl’s eyes seemed to change, the pupils narrowing, becoming snake-like. Then she fell back against the bed with a soft sigh, as if lying down for a nap after a tiring day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale’s hands were shaking as he began the Athaniasian creed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quicumque vult salvus esse, ante omnia opus est, ut teneat catholicam fidem: Quam nisi quisque integram inviolatamque servaverit, absque dubio in aeternum peribit ….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time he’d finished, Sarah’s eyes were open and she looked happy and relieved, as if she’d just been rescued from a shipwreck and was now warm and dry. Aziraphale gently rested his hand on her forehead and prayed over her for a few minutes, then bid a warm farewell to her family, assuring them that he would be back in the morning to check on her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Back outside in the snowy night, he found it hard to concentrate on saying his goodbyes to his team, and making arrangements for the next morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you quite well, Father?” young Newton asked him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, of course. Perfectly well. I’ll see you all in the morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The walk through Crosswell to the Vicarage felt like walking through treacle. Aziraphale supposed a little fatigue was to be expected. The demon had been more powerful than expected, certainly more so than the last one he’d exorcised. Or perhaps he was simply getting on in years and didn’t have the stamina for exorcisms any more. At least the ritual had ended well for Sarah, although Aziraphale suspected it wasn’t over for her yet. Contrary to sensationalist stories, most exorcisms took months, or even years to complete, and involved repeated rituals. There was a certain dedication and patience needed to free someone from evil influences.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crosswell Vicarage was huddled in darkness. Aziraphale rather loved the quirky little house with its unevenly shaped rooms, and its nooks and crannies. Many’s the time someone in the village had asked him if he was afraid to live in a haunted house, for so the legend ran. Aziraphale always laughed and told them that no house dedicated to God could be haunted, unless it was by the holy spirit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, looking up at the darkened windows, like the coal-black eyes of the possessed staring back at him, he wasn’t so sure. </span>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p>
  <span>Telling himself not to be ridiculous, Aziraphale unlocked the door, switched on the hall light, and headed to the kitchen to boil water for tea. By the time the kettle was whistling, and Aziraphale had swapped his cassock and surplice for his well-worn corduroy trousers and argyle jumper, so well-loved that parts of the knit were soft as felt from being rubbed so often, he was calmer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before long, there was a fire blazing in the hearth, the tea was hot, and Aziraphale had his favourite tartan slippers to warm his feet. Sitting in his armchair, a comfortable old vintage number with a red velvet seat and scrolled arms, he took out his notebook and began to write his impressions of the ritual. The Bishop would expect a full report.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t bring himself to write down what had happened when the demon struck out at him. The laugh was nothing new - he’d heard demons before, though none that seemed to come from outside of the possessed person. Even the shift in the subject’s eyes was not unusual. He’d seen all kinds of odd distortions. But the feeling of being seen and clawed at from the inside was entirely new, and if he was going to mention it to the Bishop, he’d far rather do it in person. He would write it in his private journal, though, to keep himself accountable. He knew he must stay alert to the possibility that something in him had wavered, that his faith had not been strong enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Truth be told, Aziraphale had often wondered if his faith was strong enough. Oh, his track record with successful exorcisms said it was, and certainly he felt comfortable guiding and helping his flock. But he’d never felt the presence of God the way he thought he ought to. When other priests talked of hearing God’s voice in their heart, or of answered prayers, Aziraphale agreed vaguely, and tried to change the subject. Sometimes he thought he saw God in the world around him, in the love shown between people, or the spill of moonlight on water. He tried to do good. He hoped that was enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing, he picked up his journal and began to write.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Does this mean that my faith is not strong enough? Am I being tested? Does God know that in the darkest moments of the night, doubts arise in me about how God could let the world suffer so, if He loves it? It’s all down to free will, of course. Yet it is hard to see God in starvation and fear and hatred and hurt, and I wonder if the entity sensed that in me?</span>
  </em>
  <em></em>
    <span></span><br/>
<em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em></em>
  <span>There are other doubts too, so private and shameful that I dare not even look at them. Secrets so deep that I have buried them where no light can go, not even the light of God. If the entity saw that, then it surely now has the keys to torment me further, for it knows my secret proclivities ...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, that was quite enough of that. Aziraphale put down his notebook and pen, and turned to pick up his teacup. Huh. He could have sworn he’d put it on the table beside his chair, but he must have reached up to place it on the mantle, where it now resided. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Clearly he needed sleep, especially as he was going to check on Sarah in the morning. He climbed the stairs to bed, opening the bedroom window for a few minutes to freshen the air before sleep, as was his custom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Distracted as he was, he forgot he had left the window open, until he was lying in bed, when the window slammed shut hard enough to knock over his night light, which thankfully he had already extinguished. The wind must be getting up, Aziraphale thought to himself, and drifted into sleep.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Fic is complete and will update on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Hit the subscribe button to be sure you don't miss an update! Keep an eye out for more beautiful art in upcoming chapters, too.</p><p>
  <b>Behind the scenes notes</b>
</p><p>I was CAPTIVATED I tell you when Roo posted <a href="https://wargoddess9.tumblr.com/post/635869251964715008/happy-thanksgiving-to-the-americans-i-did-this">this</a> art of priest Azi and demon Crowley on Tumblr. I asked if I could write something to go with it, she said yes, and Apotheosis was born.</p><p>I spent an inordinate amount of time researching exorcism, and as far as I can tell the words used here are a good representation of the ritual. Though I apologise for any errors - after two days of research about the church and the exorcism rite, I had to quit before I went cross eyed from staring at the screen.</p><p>You all know how certain Crowleys of mine have their own mind (CC from Aurency I am looking at you.) Well, this one got named Dark Crowey, DC for short, and he was awkward! Getting information from him was like pulling teeth. I suppose he had to keep the mystique up so we could all be spooked out right along with Aziraphale ;)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Catechism</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sleep-deprived and struggling through his days, Aziraphale starts to suspect something has gone very wrong. His Bishop is dismissive; his dear friend Newt is more understanding, but equally lost as to what to do. Did Sarah's exorcism really get rid of the demon that fast, or has Aziraphale gained an unwelcome house guest?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Aziraphale woke the next morning from a fitful sleep in which he’d dreamed of long black nails reaching for his skin. Sitting up in bed, he rubbed his eyes. Perhaps he ought to arrange a visit with the Bishop. But first, he was due at the Youngs’ house. He glanced at the alarm clock, which showed 7:30. He’d only meant to lie down for a moment to rest after morning prayers at 5:00. Thankfully there was enough time to make breakfast and come back to himself before going to the Youngs’. Aziraphale was secretly thankful that Ash Wednesday and Good Friday were the only absolutely obligatory fast days. He worked much better on a full stomach.</p><p>Sarah looked incredibly well. Aziraphale was pleased for her, and for her family who had been so distraught, but he felt a growing unease in the pit of his belly. Every other exorcism he’d performed had taken at least two rituals, but often many more. Yet when they prayed over her, and anointed her with holy water, she just smiled gratefully, unperturbed by the holy objects, thanking them for delivering her. </p><p>With a final instruction to Mrs Young to call on him if she was concerned, Aziraphale left the house feeling unsettled in his spirit.</p><p>“That went well,” Newt commented after the other assistants had said their farewells. </p><p>He’d used that lightly questioning tone that Aziraphale knew so well. His friend was opening the way for him to share what was on his mind, without pushing him. Aziraphale ran his hand through his hair, trying to soothe his suddenly aching head, wondering if he should confide his concerns.</p><p>“I wouldn’t expect her to be in such good health, so quickly,” Aziraphale admitted. “I do have concerns that perhaps the demon is simply hiding.”</p><p>“We’ll keep a close eye on her. I was planning to stay overnight to catch up with my family anyway,” Newt said reassuringly, for although he was now the priest for nearby Malmsebury, he had been born in Crosswell. “Why don’t I drop in on the Youngs on my way home tomorrow?”</p><p>“That would be lovely, dear fellow. Thank you.” </p><p>“It’ll be alright. You’ll see,” Newt told him, before heading off with a cheery wave.</p><p>Aziraphale found he didn’t quite want to go home yet. He had a sermon to prepare, but his mind was restless. The Bishop lived a short bus journey away, in Salisbury. It seemed terribly impolite to stop by without an appointment, but Aziraphale felt himself to be in dire need of guidance. </p><p>Boarding the green number three bus to Salsibury, Aziraphale settled into his seat, leaning his forehead against the cool glass and trying to ignore the raging pain in his temples.</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
As luck, or providence, would have it, Bishop Herald was at home, and had enough free time to talk with Aziraphale. Or at least, what passed for talking with the Bishop. Gabriel Herald liked the sound of his own voice better than anyone else’s. Aziraphale often wondered if Gabriel could hear God at all, when he wouldn’t let God get a word in edgewise. </p><p>“Aziraphale!” he boomed genially, spreading his hands wide as if about to make a proclamation. “What brings you here? I cannot tarry too long, I have a meeting about the plans for charitable giving at Christmas in an hour. Very important to show how charitable we are, you know!”</p><p>“This shouldn’t take long.”</p><p>Aziraphale stepped further into the elegant reception room of Whitefeather Canonry. </p><p>“I have finished the exorcism that you authorised, of Sarah Young. I have brought my report in person because I rather wanted to discuss the ritual with you.”</p><p>Gabriel held out his hand impatiently, then took the report and leafed through it. </p><p>“I did not put this in the report, because I wanted to discuss it with you first …” Aziraphale began, twisting his hands nervously. The Bishop was about his age, and had moved to England from America a few years ago. He was confident and condescending, and somehow always made Aziraphale feel like he’d failed in every conceivable way.</p><p>“If you’ve got something to share, make it quick.”</p><p>“The demon was … particularly wily. I could feel it in my mind more clearly than any other I have exorcised. And when I went back this morning, it had apparently gone completely.  Perhaps we ought to discuss it further?”</p><p>“Aziraphale!” Gabriel said loudly, clapping his hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder, rather too forcefully, the priest thought. “God assisted Sarah in her hour of deepest need, all glory to Him!”</p><p>“That’s all very well and good, but you know as well as I do that such serious possession is not normally cured after one ritual.”</p><p>“You can believe in a demon, but not that God could get rid of it with expediency? That’s rather shaky logic, Aziraphale. Praise the Lord and give thanks that it worked! The Youngs have their daughter back. Now if you don’t mind, the charitable giving won’t just plan itself, …”</p><p>Before Aziraphale could say anything else, he was being ushered out of the Canonry. He turned to protest, but the door was shut firmly behind him. </p><p>Aziraphale’s footsteps were sluggish as he made his way towards the bus station. His route took him past St Osmund’s Church, and the sight of his childhood house of worship cheered his heart a little. Perhaps a few moments of quiet confession and prayer there would help.</p><p>The church was deserted, its interior cool and peaceful. Kneeling by the altar, Aziraphale bent his head and closed his eyes, whispering a prayer of confession. Had there been another priest present he might have considered asking for a sacrament of reconciliation, but how would he have begun to explain what was on his mind?</p><p>Aziraphale was so deep in concentration on his prayer, that he did not notice the heat building up in his hand, as if the altar rail burned him. Lifting it quickly, he gave it a quick shake. The air felt suffocating as he stood to leave. For the first time since he was a child and bored of the Mass, Aziraphale wanted to get out of the church. He all but ran down the aisle, into the chilly October afternoon. Standing on the pavement, looking at the bare trees lining the street, he felt vaguely ridiculous. He was forty-five years old and a servant of God. He was not given to wild superstition or being spooked by shadows.</p><p>Telling himself sternly to pull himself together, Aziraphale set off for home.</p>
<hr/><p>By the third night of not sleeping properly, Aziraphale was starting to feel more than a little crazy. He’d always been a light sleeper - when he’d been at St Joseph’s Seminary, near Guildford in Surrey, he’d struggled to get decent rest, disturbed by every sneeze, snore, and footstep from the other trainees. Living alone in Crosswell Vicarage was an absolute boon. Still, despite being a light sleeper, he’d always felt refreshed by morning. </p><p>These last few days he’d woken up more tired than he’d gone to sleep. He didn’t recall dreaming, but he woke fuzzy-headed and exhausted. He was sleepwalking through his days, and he felt guilty for not being fully present with his parishioners. Marjorie Potts even made a kind enquiry as to his health when she and Shadwell … what was the man’s first name? Aziraphale couldn’t remember … came for their pre-wedding pastoral care. </p><p>By the time Aziraphale sat down to a simple dinner of Welsh Rarebit, he felt in danger of falling asleep over his plate. As he was clearing away his supper dishes, there was a light knock on the door. Aziraphale groaned. He loved his parishioners, and he took his duty to be there for them when they had need seriously, but he was unusually out of sorts and ready to retire for the night.</p><p>His mood soon lifted when he saw Newt standing on his doorstep.</p><p>“I decided to stay a bit longer with the family. I have annual leave to use - fancy a game?”</p><p>Aziraphale did indeed. He and Newt had been playing the same game of chess for two years, squeezing in a few moves whenever Newt had cause to visit Crosswell. As they settled into the game, Aziraphale felt himself relax a little. He was over tired. That was all.</p><p>“You seem out of sorts,” Newt pointed out, with that uncanny knack for getting at the truth. “Sarah’s exorcism still on your mind?”</p><p>“A bit.” Aziraphale admitted, taking a sip of tea. “How was she when you visited?”</p><p>“Right as rain. Maybe this time it really was just that quick?”</p><p>“You don’t believe that any more than I do,” Aziraphale said.</p><p>“Fair point. But unfortunately there isn’t a ritual for locating a lost demon, so I think all we can do is pray and stay alert. And hope perhaps it really did return to Hell.”</p><p>Aziraphale nodded, contemplating his next move, eventually opting to move his knight.</p><p>“It worries me.”</p><p>“You’re good at your job, Father Fell. I’ll be here for the next couple of weeks anyway since I’m extending my stay.”</p><p>“I’m not going to ask you to work on your time off,” Aziraphale said, pouring his friend more tea.</p><p>“I’m here if you need me, all the same.” Newt’s brow furrowed as he studied the board. “Checkmate.”</p><p>Defeated at last. It was all in good sport with Newt, but Aziraphale couldn’t help feeling it was symbolic of his last few days.</p><p>As he bid the younger priest goodbye, Aziraphale couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching him. Truly, he needed a decent night’s sleep. His imagination was running away with him. </p><p>The next day was Saturday, and he had morning mass, a confirmation class, and final preparation for Sunday’s homily. Distraction would be good for him. If he had free time he would do some work in the garden, preparing it for next year’s plants. He’d started his garden during the Dig for Victory campaign, but although the war had ended a decade ago, he’d kept it up, finding he liked the simplicity of physical labour and growing his own food.</p><p>He was more tired than he thought. As he said his evening vespers, he found himself slipping into a language that he couldn’t quite place. Crossing himself, he sent up an extra prayer for protection and, feeling rather silly for being so unnerved, got into bed, studiously ignoring the cold chill in the room.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Confession</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Aziraphale strives to carry on his priestly duties, but the shadow around him is growing and sending icy tendrils into his waking life. When he calls on Father Pulsifer for assistance, it soon becomes clear that Aziraphale is far from alone, and his guest is in no hurry to leave.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW for a little creepy mind invasion.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Aziraphale drifted in and out of sleep, awaking chilled and discomfited, only to be dragged under again before he could truly surface. His body felt leaden, unresponsive to his commands, leaving him no recourse but to listen to the cold voice that whispered to him not in words, but in feelings, in memories. </p><p>He was adrift in a dark sea, and each wave was something he’d buried, desperate never to see it again. The burning shame of telling his father he wasn’t willing to marry, not for money, not for any reason. The guilt of knowing why, of having thoughts about other men that he had been quite certain would bar him from priesthood. Even if he didn’t tell a soul, he’d thought back then, God would know and somehow prevent him from entering. The creeping sensation, year on year, that his faith in God was not what it should be. That there were just too many things that sat ill with him, from corruption in the Church, to the evils done to other humans in the name of religion. </p><p>He almost awoke again, but couldn’t make it to full consciousness. He knew he was dreaming but knowing that didn’t make it less frightening. But he would wake eventually. Somewhere in his half-sleeping state, he remembered the folk belief that sleep paralysis was a sign of demonic possession. No. He just needed to ride it out until his mind came back to order. </p><p>He sternly instructed himself to relax, and as he did, something changed. Instead of falling asleep, he stayed in that strange half-waking state, and he could feel another presence with him, dark tendrils wrapping around him like vines, holding him in place. </p><p>“I know you,” Aziraphale said, and the tendrils tightened a little, inconsequential as smoke, yet as hard as iron chains. “Demon.”</p><p>He tried to pray, to call on the Lord’s name, but his voice wouldn’t come. Alarmed, he struggled harder against the hold on him, trying to push the tendrils away and finding they slipped through his fingers only to wrap around him again.</p><p>“Where is God now?” whispered a low, husky voice that was clearly amused at his predicament.</p><p>Before Aziraphale could think to answer, the voice spoke again.</p><p>“He’s not here. Here, you’re mine.”</p><p>“I am no such - !”</p><p>Then he finally managed to wake, coughing and gasping as if he’d nearly drowned. His bedroom was cold as ice and the faint grey pre-dawn light did nothing to warm it. </p><hr/><p>Morning prayers were even more difficult than the previous night’s vespers. Aziraphale forgot the words several times, stumbling over them, mangling them until they sounded less like prayers to Heaven and more like pleas to Hell.</p><p>Getting ready to leave the house was a trial. Every egg, fresh-laid by Ms. Pott’s chickens and usually delicious, smelled of sulphur. The milk curdled in his tea, and his misplaced keys turned up covered in a black, sticky substance.  Aziraphale finally managed to drag himself out the door, arriving at Our Lady of the Cross Church in time for confession hours. </p><p>Settling into the confessional booth, Aziraphale was keenly aware that he ought to be the one confessing. Of course he made his own regular prayers of confession, but the morning’s events, and the strange dreams, were weighing heavily on him. But what exactly did he need to confess? That he’d had a nightmare? That he’d been forgetful and sluggish for days?</p><p>That he was starting to suspect something had gone wrong at Sarah’s exorcism? No. He refused to give that thought power.</p><p>Perhaps he ought to consider fasting after all. Maybe a day of fasting and prayer would reset his inner compass. But at that precise moment, his flock needed him to hear their confessions and guide them towards absolution.<br/> <br/>Two hours later, confession time was nearly over and Aziraphale was glad of it. He’d struggled badly to stay focussed on his parishioners’ confessions (everything from infidelity to getting angry at a neighbor for keeping a rooster that crowed every morning). He was tormented by the worry that his suggestions of how they might do penance had been given by rote, and not as carefully thought out as usual.</p><p>The afternoon brought with it a slew of pastoral visits, a meeting with the choirmaster about the selection for Christmas, and the opening of a new haberdashery in the village. The distraction was temporary at best. </p><p>The day was perfectly pleasant as he walked through Crosswell towards the vicarage. The last of the leaves clinging to the trees were vivid russet and honey, and the scent of woodsmoke twined through the air. It was idyllic, and Aziraphale felt a rush of love towards the village and its inhabitants. He was also afraid that he would not be able to serve them properly in his current state.</p><p>He thought of Newt taking a break in the village. Aziraphale had some unused leave, too. Perhaps if things did not resolve soon, he would take it. Or perhaps he ought to contact the Bishop again, tell him he was ill?</p><p>When Aziraphale arrived home, Crosswell Vicarage was cold, even considering the time of year. Aziraphale could see his breath forming ice crystals, and his teeth practically chattered.</p><p>“If you must haunt me, you might at least light some candles when I’m not looking instead of freezing me half to death,” he muttered, feeling quite out of sorts with the whole thing.</p><p>Was it possible for a house to become possessed? Certainly Aziraphale had heard of houses being haunted, or attracting evil spirits. Crosswell Vicarage usually felt warm and welcoming, an atmosphere Aziraphle had crafted so his parishioners would feel safe and at home, should they visit him there. </p><p>A clearing ritual wouldn’t go amiss. And Aziraphale knew he didn’t have to do it alone.</p><hr/><p>“It is a bit spooky,” Newt admitted, as he stepped into the vicarage. “What do you think, then, Father? For a full exorcism we would need more assistants, but does one do a full exorcism on a house?”</p><p>“The literature is a little unclear in places. Perhaps we could start with a simple blessing, and calling on the name of God to drive out evil.”</p><p>“Sounds sensible to me.” Newt rummaged in his coat pockets and produced a vial of holy water. “I know you already have this, but it never hurts to be prepared. Should I have put on my cassock and surplice?” He added, seeing that Aziraphale had dressed in his own priest garb.</p><p>“Quite frankly, I think some of that is for show. It reassures people. In this case, myself.” Aziraphale took Newt’s coat and hung it in the hallway. “I do have spares, if you prefer …”</p><p>“I think you’re right. We’ll be fine,” Newt said, walking into the lounge, standing on the antique Donegal rug that Aziraphale’s mother had brought home on the ferry from her last trip to her native Ireland before she died. “Shall we pray?”</p><p>Aziraphale nodded, joining Newt and bowing his head. Newt started the Litany of the Saints, and Aziraphale did his best to join in, the words blurring in his mind until he was noticeably stuttering over them. He felt Newt’s reassuring hand on his shoulder and smiled weakly, trying to convey to his friend that he was fine, everything was fine. He ploughed on as best he could, trying to ignore the feeling of relief when the prayer was over. </p><p></p><div class="center">
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  </p>
</div><p>It was a fairly standard blessing. Newt called on the Lord, and Aziraphale echoed him. They commanded any evil presence in the house to leave in the name of God. </p><p>Nothing changed.</p><p>By the time they’d both blessed the house three times, they stopped and looked at each other in confusion.</p><p>“That should have worked,” Newt observed.</p><p>“Indeed.”</p><p>“Father, forgive me for asking, but could you have an entity attached to you? Have you exhibited any hallmarks? Certainly the house is cold and has an ill feeling … have you shown any signs of rage? Abnormal strength? Speaking in tongues? Have you lost your appetite?”</p><p>“Of course not,” Aziraphale protested, but it felt like there was something squirming in his stomach. </p><p>Admittedly he hadn’t eaten much recently, but he’d been worried and had likely lost his appetite because of that. Though he had considered fasting, and that was unlike him. Newt was watching him carefully, and Aziraphale’s mind suddenly snapped back to the other night when his prayers had borne the taint of another language, indeed to that very morning when his prayers had seemed to twist of their own accord.</p><p>He’d felt no rage, no hatred, and certainly he hadn’t exhibited unusual strength. Though … his urge to run out of St Osmund’s in Salisbury had been so strong it felt as if his life depended on getting out of the church.</p><p>“I have felt rather out of sorts lately,” he said, watching carefully for Newt’s reaction. He did not want to be compromised and he would not put his parishioners in danger for anything. But he did not want to involve Bishop Herald unless absolutely necessary.</p><p>“Perhaps I might bless you? I think even we who have dedicated our lives to service need a little outside help from time to time.”</p><p>“Yes, thank you.”</p><p>Aziraphale closed his eyes, whispering a prayer as Newt took the vial of holy water, wet his fingers with it, and made the sign of the cross on Aziraphale’s forehead. Aziraphale felt a sudden flash of heat, as if he’d leaned his head on hot metal, and there was a hissing sound. His eyes snapped open to find Newt staring at him in shock.</p><p>“Father…” </p><p>Newt gestured shakily to the mirror that hung above the mantelpiece, another heirloom from his mother. Aziraphale turned to look, gasping when he saw the sign of the cross branded red on his forehead, as if Newt’s fingers had burned him. They both stared silently as the marks slowly faded. Aziraphale could have sworn he saw a dark shape in the mirror, a fleeting shadow that moved like a billowing dark cloud, passing through the centre of his chest and then vanishing, leaving his veins to freeze in its wake.</p><p>“Father, I think we should call the Bishop and arrange for another exorcist to come and see you.”</p><p>“Stuff and nonsense, Newton. I am not possessed.”</p><p>Newt gave him a look that clearly said “are you sure about that?” Was he sure? Aziraphale shook his head. Whoever heard of an exorcist becoming possessed? He had been trusted with this role because his faith was strong enough to withstand staring evil in the face, hearing its voice and feeling its cold hands reaching for him.</p><p>“I need a good night’s sleep, that’s all.” </p><p>Newt looked around the room, which, even Aziraphale had to admit, was unusually dark considering the lights were on and it was only just past dusk.</p><p>“Be extra careful,” Newt said at last. “May I check in with you tomorrow evening, after Mass? I’d feel more at ease …”</p><p>“Yes, yes of course, I appreciate your concern. I will contact Bishop Herald soon. At the very least, I may need to take a little leave.”</p><p>Newt looked suspicious, but said nothing else. Though Aziraphale noticed him muttering a few extra prayers under his breath as he gathered his things.</p><p>“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, turning in the doorway to shake Aziraphale’s hand before he left. “And don’t worry. If you are … if you are unwell … we will deal with it.”</p><p>“Thank you dear boy. Mind how you go.”</p><p>Then Aziraphale closed the door, turned, and leaned back against it. He could see his father’s face again, just as in the dream, horrified at Aziraphale’s intention to enter the priesthood. </p><p>
  <em>You’ll do no such thing, my boy! You will marry Miss Device. She is a respectable choice and well-connected. Social standing is everything in this world. You will not sully our good reputation by becoming a … a Catholic! </em>
</p><p>He’d practically spat the word. Of course he had no idea that Aziraphale, despite not being much disposed to the church as a child, had been attending Mass since he was eighteen. His father had always been very clear on what he thought about the church. A bunch of superstitious nonsense. But his Irish Catholic mother had believed, and Aziraphale suspected much of his faith in the church came from her, for she was so good and kind that he thought surely the church she believed in must be so also. But of course, it wasn’t always ...</p><p>No. Such thoughts were at best the work of his own self doubts, and at worst that of something evil. Aziraphale would cast them aside. Making himself some tea, he sat down beside the fire, and opened his newspaper. He was not going to be frightened by shadows and the effects of over-tiredness. He had a Mass to lead on the morrow.</p><p>Aziraphale didn’t notice the sensation at first. He was engrossed in an article about the proliferation of colours people were growing for their rose gardens. Aziraphale had always meant to get around to planting a rose garden, but his vegetables kept him busy. If he hadn’t been a priest, he might have been a gardener. He’d loved it even as a child when his mother, a keen gardener herself, let him mark out and hoe his own little vegetable patch. Indeed, the gardening section of his bookshelf was more or less groaning under the weight of all the tomes there.</p><p>But there it was, clear as the newsprint in front of him. A subtle scraping sensation against the back of his neck, faint but unmistakable, like long nails against his skin. That was it. Aziraphale folded his newspaper and put it firmly down on the table. He reached for his cross, and found it was no longer around his neck. Searching the floor frantically, he found no trace of it until, eventually, he spotted it. It was hanging from the mantelpiece - and the beads had been re-strung so the cross was upside down. His stomach felt like it was sinking into his boots, but he took a breath, and started the Athanasian Creed, just as he had for Sarah.</p><p>There was a shiver of sensation down the front of his body, a cold prickle that seemed to penetrate his clothes.</p><p>“I command you, reveal yourself!”</p><p>There was a rasping sound, as if something was coiling around him. The air grew heavier as Aziraphale mentally pushed back against it, praying fervently. The entity - as Aziraphale could no longer deny it was - squeezed tighter in response. </p><p><em>Surrender</em>, something in him said.<em> You know you want to indulge your desires a little. And I know all of your desires.</em></p><p>Aziraphale closed his eyes. No one knew his desires aside from possibly God, and he had always done his best to hide them even from the Almighty. He’d certainly always done his best to hide them from himself.</p><p><em>I could make you feel so good.</em> It wasn’t a voice exactly, more like a strong feeling, a sudden rush of butterflies in his stomach. A sudden longing to let himself crave, and want, and covet. To indulge the impulses he tried so hard to repress, for comfort and pleasure and warmth and something … earthly. The longing to live with gusto, to suck the marrow from the bones of life, to know the touch of another…</p><p><em>No</em>. But as he resisted, the impressions grew stronger, words forming clearly in his mind. </p><p>
  <em>What would you have me do? What have you imagined in those long dark nights alone, oh you claim you’re so holy, but we both know different …</em>
</p><p>With a shout, Aziraphale leaped to his feet. “Leave now, unclean spirit!” he bellowed. “Be gone from this place!  The Lord has command of thee!”</p><p>A darkly amused laugh caressed the corners of his mind. <em>Does he now? </em></p><p><em>Yes</em>. Aziraphale replied in his mind, as if it was quite normal to converse with unseen dark forces. Annoyed at himself, and more than a little scared, he pushed back with all his might, and was rewarded with a dragging sensation as if something was leaving him, and pulling against his insides as it went. The sensation made him shudder in something that was terrifyingly like pleasure. Thoroughly shaken, Aziraphale made the sign of the cross and all but ran upstairs to try and find sanctuary in his evening prayers. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Fic is complete and will update on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Hit the subscribe button to be sure you don't miss an update! Tune in on Monday for the most blasphemous thing I've ever written, and the hottest art to go with it. Prepare thyself ...</p><p>
  <b>Behind the scenes notes</b>
</p><p>DC is a creepy one, isn't he? I had a blast writing him. </p><p>Although this Aziraphale does love books and words, I wanted to give him a more earthly passion, like gardening, to position him clearly as very and completely human.</p><p>I'm a sleep paralysis sufferer, so I drew on that for Father Fell's experiences. Unfortunately I don't have Crowley waiting for me when I get an episode - though I'm not sure this particular Crowley would be much of a comfort!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Sin</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Caught in a dream, Aziraphale is faced with every carnal temptation he's tried so hard to deny for so long. Can he hold tight to his vows, or will he give in to the illicit pleasure the demon is offering him?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It's after midnight here in the UK, so I'm calling it Monday and posting this!</p><p>CW: Dubcon and blasphemy. I'll put details in the end notes so you can avoid spoilers, but can check if you need to.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The church was deserted, the vast space empty, yet filled with so much Presence. Aziraphale knew at once that he was in St Peter’s Basilica, the holiest of churches in the Catholic faith, yet he was feeling considerably less than holy. </p><p>He was standing by the high altar, with the vast bronze canopy of the baldachin arching high above his head. The enormous canopy was dwarfed by the basilica itself, its grandeur making Aziraphale feel small, in a way that was comforting. It reminded him of his first week at the seminary, when he’d been able to swallow his doubts and let himself be enveloped by the holy atmosphere and the camaraderie of being there with the other trainees. </p><p>The sharp ring of footsteps on the marble made him turn. He wasn’t alone after all. The figure approaching the altar was shadowy, moving in an inhuman way that made the hair on the back of Aziraphale’s neck stand up. It didn’t walk, but flickered forward in sharp, jerky motions, appearing and reappearing swiftly as if it were bending the space to its will. As if it was more powerful than the huge, holy edifice around it. </p><p>There was something so familiar about it … Aziraphale remembered the voice that had whispered in his mind after he'd tried to bless the vicarage, and the almost sensual quality of its energy passing across his skin.</p><p>“You.” </p><p>“Who else?” the figure said with amusement. In a flash it was beside him, staring down at him with eyes that burned yellow as sulphur. </p><p>“You’re a demon,” Aziraphale said, as if this was a perfectly normal conversation, though his heart was pounding behind his ribs, and he instinctively reached to grasp his cross, as if that could protect him.</p><p>“You already knew that.” The figure was taking form now, shadowy limbs and indistinct blackness shifting into a face so beautiful it could only be made for temptation, high cheekbones and a wicked curve of a smile. Long red curls tumbled over its shoulders and down its back.</p><p>“Why are you here?” Aziraphale asked, struggling to keep his voice even. </p><p>All his life he’d fought the urges of his body and mind, and right now he felt closer to losing control of them than he ever had. The demon reached out its long pale fingers, black talon-like nails trailing over Aziraphale’s cheek. He stepped back as if the demon’s touch had burned him, trying frantically to push down the feelings of want cresting in him like a wayward tide.</p><p>“Get thee from me.” He said firmly. “We are in the holiest of places, and you will not corrupt me.”</p><p>The demon circled him then, as if sizing him up, and it took all of Aziraphale’s strength to stay facing forward and not turn to keep his eyes on the demon. But he would not show fear. He would let it stand behind him no matter how unnerved he felt. </p><p>“No?” The demon was standing right behind him now.  “Well then, if you cannot be corrupted, it won’t matter if I …” The demon leaned in and nipped sharply at Aziraphale’s neck, making him cry out in surprise.</p><p>“How dare you,” he said. But it was so soft, barely audible in the huge basilica, and his hand drifted up, unbidden to cup the demon’s sinfully beautiful face.</p><p>“Tell you what,” the demon murmured in a smoky voice, its long black nails playing suggestively down the front of Aziraphale’s cassock, clicking against the buttons. “Push me away, and I’ll stop. I’ll let you push me away. No tricks. I only want what you’re willing to give me.”</p><p>“I am not willing to give you anything,” Aziraphale huffed, too offended to be frightened. </p><p>“Stop me then.” The demon shrugged and slid its hands down to Aziraphale’s hips, long fingers wrapping boldly around them, and pulling Aziraphale back so they were pressed together.</p><p>“This is a dream,” Aziraphale said, trying to remind himself.</p><p>“Then it’s not a sin, is it? You can’t control your dreams. So you can’t be to blame for what happens …”</p><p>The demon slid its hands up the front of Aziraphale’s body, its palms brushing briefly against his nipples through the thick material of his cassock. He bit his lip hard to repress a gasp, turning to face his tormentor. The demon stepped closer, curling its long fingers under Aziraphale’s chin and tipping his head back so he was looking up into those striking yellow eyes, golden right to the edges with slitted pupils. </p><p>“You are a dream, aren't you?” Aziraphale blurted out.</p><p>“Oh, I think you’ll enjoy this much more if you don’t know for certain. Take the risk, Father Fell. It’s carnal lust however you cut it, so you can convince yourself it’s all completely your own mind, if that makes you feel better.”</p><p>Aziraphale closed his eyes for a long moment, horrified to discover that he didn’t care as much as he should.</p><p>“I already know what you want. All those nights you’ve fought to suffocate your own desires. Tell me...” The demon leaned in and spoke low against his ear, one hand snaking around his back and holding him in place. “Do you touch yourself when you think of being with another man? When you imagine someone’s hand wrapped around your hard cock? Do you give in to it?”</p><p>“No,” Aziraphale said coldly, hoping the demon couldn’t see how many times he’d nearly done exactly that, stopping himself at the last moment. </p><p>He closed his eyes, praying fervently to wake up. He opened them quickly when the demon licked the shell of his ear, his hand instinctively flying to the entity’s chest to push it back. As soon as his hand made contact, a flare of heat shot up his arm and he felt the demon’s warmth through its black robes. </p><p>“No one ever has to know.” The demon insisted. </p><p>“This is a dream.” Aziraphale repeated, as if that could save him.</p><p>“Then let yourself dream it.” The demon said, and Aziraphale realised to his growing horror that he wanted to. After all, if it was only a dream, no one else would know ….</p><p>He was stroking the demon’s chest. He was supposed to be pushing it away, and he was stroking its chest. The demon took a step closer, until Aziraphale could feel the heat, infernal heat he supposed calmly as if studying the creature, radiating from it. </p><p>“Tell me to stop and I will.” It crooned softly against his ear as it reached down to grab his thighs, lifting them around its waist as if Aziraphale weighed nothing. The sudden lewdness of the demon’s hips between his inner thighs made Aziraphale gasp and he instinctively wrapped his arms around it, to keep himself from falling. </p><p>“I’ve got you.” The demon said, its voice shockingly gentle. </p><p>Aziraphale was flustered, painfully aware that being thus lifted had caused his cassock to ride up above his knees. When the demon set him down on the high altar, he gave a low moan of protest, shaking his head.</p><p>“No … not here … we can’t …”</p><p>The demon stepped closer so its chest was pressed to Aziraphale’s. “I don’t hear 'stop.'” It said with a wicked grin that showed sharp fangs. </p><p>Aziraphale swallowed hard, his throat so dry he could barely speak. This should be so easy. <em>Say stop. Just say stop</em>. But his legs were spread around the demon’s hips, and he could feel the heat of it radiating against the parts of himself that no one had ever touched. When the demon slid its hand under his cassock and raked its long black nails down his thigh, Aziraphale was shocked into temporary silence, trying desperately to hide the way his hips tried to push themselves towards the demon. </p><p>The demon gave him a salacious grin. “Naked underneath your cassock, priest?”</p><p>Aziraphale blushed to the roots of his hair as he realised that the demon was right; his dreaming mind had seen fit to give him socks and even his customary sock garters, but no trousers or underwear. The demon chuckled, sliding its hand up until the long nails pressed into the crease of Aziraphale’s hip, making him throw his head back with a gasp.</p><p>“Oh, look at you. All those long years denying yourself, you must be so desperate …”</p><p>Those long hands were grasping the hem of his cassock now, pushing it up high enough that there was no hiding how painfully hard he already was. The demon stood back as if to admire him, its expression covetous as it stripped off its own robe and stood naked in the soft light inside the Basilica. Aziraphale closed his eyes tightly, refusing to add to the unholy temptation he was feeling, by looking on the demon’s naked body. </p><p>“You can pray if it makes you feel better.” The demon teased, then its mouth was hot on Aziraphale’s inner thighs. </p><p>“No,” he groaned, though the way his legs opened wider as if of their own accord felt far more like <em>yes</em>. “Not on the altar, oh please, you evil thing, why here …?”</p><p>He opened his eyes just long enough to see the demon look up at him with a grin, its eyes vivid gold. “Because I want you to know that you let a servant of evil touch you right here, in the holiest of places, that you defiled the very altar you claim to serve by sitting on it and moaning for a demon … and you will moan for me, won’t you?”</p><p>So saying,the demon leaned down and licked a long stripe up the underside of Aziraphale’s shaft. It’s tongue was long and forked, and when it wrapped that inhuman tongue around his cock, Aziraphale couldn’t keep from crying out. </p><p>He heard his voice as if from a distance, telling the demon that they couldn’t, that he couldn’t, not on the altar … interspersed with frantic prayers for forgiveness. But not once did he hear himself say “stop.” </p><p>Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut tight, unable to bear watching. He had one hand fisted in the altar cloth, struggling to resist the urge to thrust like an animal into the bright, hot pleasure that was pooling in his lower belly and sending zaps of sensation down his spread thighs. The other hand gripped his cross so tightly he was sure his palm must be bleeding as he prayed harder, begging to be released from this torment, to find the strength to prove himself still holy.</p><p>When the demon took Aziraphale’s entire length in its mouth and sucked, working up and down and applying extra suction against the sensitive tip, Aziraphale could neither pray nor beg. Words left him altogether as the heat and wetness engulfed him.  </p><p></p><div class="center">
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</div><p>He could feel his cock twitching in the demon’s mouth, leaking drops of precum onto its tongue, and it was so forbidden but it felt so good. He clamped one hand over his mouth to try and stifle his cries. </p><p>The demon immediately reached up and grabbed both his wrists, leaving him unable to hide the moans that fell from his lips, increasing in volume with every movement against his cock until he was shouting his pleasure. He was writhing frantically, fighting the urge to buck into the demon’s mouth, to find the friction his body was telling him it needed.</p><p>When his hips gave a sudden jerk and a bolt of sensation made him keen in surprise and desperate, illicit lust, the demon pulled off, leaving him panting. Aziraphale immediately closed his legs and pulled his cassock down to try and preserve his modesty, but his fingers accidentally grazed his cock as he did so, making him moan wantonly. </p><p>“Do it,” the demon said, its yellow eyes watching him avidly. “That’s what you crave, isn’t it? To defile yourself here on the altar.”</p><p>It was. God help him, it was, he could think of nothing else. Hands clumsy with desperation, not even bothering to pull his cassock back up, Aziraphale grabbed himself through the material and started rubbing his shaft hard and fast, letting his hips do whatever they wanted, grunting as he rutted frantically into his own hand. </p><p>It only took a scant few thrusts before he was coming as if he’d never stop, groping lewdly at his cock as he ground desperately into his own touch, soaking the material. The demon, who had appeared quite in control of its every action until that moment, groaned like it was starving and Aziraphale alone could sustain it, forcefully holding Aziraphale’s thighs open so it could mouth and suck at him relentlessly through the black material of his cassock.  </p><p>Aziraphale was almost crying with sensitivity by the time the demon drew back. The demon dragged Aziraphale from the altar, turning him around and unceremoniously bending him over it, shoving his cassock up to his waist and leaving him exposed to the demon’s gaze. </p><p>Aziraphale felt a sudden weight on his back, and hot breath against his ear. “If you don’t tell me to stop right now, I am going to fuck you over this altar, do you understand me?” the demon growled, and Aziraphale felt the sudden press of something hard against the back of his thigh. His legs turned weak, and he found he was breathing too hard to speak. He could only nod firmly, crying with relief, as if finally satiating a need he hadn’t let himself acknowledge. </p><p>“Say it,” the demon ground out.</p><p>“I understand,” Aziraphale moaned, his legs shaking and his cock already growing hard. Groaning in shame and lust, he rubbed himself quickly against the altar, gritting his teeth against the urge to tell the demon to hurry up.</p><p>When the demon reached for the jar of anointing oil on the altar, Aziraphale didn’t know what to do. It was so blasphemous, and yet he didn’t protest. In fact, to his mortification, he widened his stance, pushing his hips up and displaying himself to the demon. </p><p>“I don’t think anything can save you now,” the demon said with dark amusement, but there was something warm in its voice. </p><p>Aziraphale felt the demon’s fingers, talons thankfully gone now, spreading his cheeks wide as the demon poured the holy oil over his most intimate parts. Then one long finger was pressing into him, making him shake and whine, both hands gripping the altar cloth as he buried his face against it. The demon added another finger, the stretch hot and sudden, pressing deep enough to strike against something tight and sensitive inside Aziraphale. The thought that it was fingering him open so it could fit its cock inside him made Aziraphale’s own shaft fill with hot blood. When he heard himself say “please, oh please” in a tone he could never have imagined hearing from his own mouth, the demon gave that dark, intoxicating laugh. </p><p>“Desperate little thing, aren’t you? Don’t worry. I’m going to give you exactly what you need.”</p><p>Aziraphale felt the demon’s tip at his entrance then, stretching him until he was quite certain he couldn’t take it. He was crying out in something that might have been pleasure and might have been pain - he could no longer tell them apart - as the demon split him down the middle on its cock, hard hot flesh pressing deep into the most intimate part of him. It started moving immediately, slow at first, but picking up speed. Aziraphale could feel its hands on his hips, holding him in place, its feet braced against his insteps to keep his legs spread until Aziraphale thought he was going to shake apart from the sensations that were assailing him. </p><p></p><div class="center">
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</div><p>The demon’s shaft was thick and hard, filling him so that he could barely even clench against it, and oh his body wanted to do that, it wanted to clench and rock and move with the demon. He could feel the anointing oil dripping over his balls and the insides of his thighs, and the filthy sensation made him even harder. </p><p>He must surely be possessed, he thought dimly, for there could be no other explanation for the words that were spilling from his mouth, telling the demon that it felt so good, that he wanted it to fuck him harder, that he wanted to feel it coming inside him. The demon gave a guttural growl at the words, and by the time it reached an oil-slick hand around to grab Aziraphale’s cock and rub it in time with its thrusts, he was so on edge that he came immediately, shouting in pleasure and shock as he watched his own come spurt all over the altar. </p><p>Before he had time to face what he’d done, he felt the demon’s cock throbbing inside him as it pushed its hips hard against him, coming in long pulses that went on and on, until it collapsed across Aziraphale’s back, its long fingers stroking his hair in a way that felt like tenderness. </p><p>“That shouldn’t have -” it began. And then Aziraphale woke up.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Fic updates on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, so be sure to subscribe so you don't miss an update! Comments are fuel for hungry authors ♥</p><p>
  <b>Content warning specifics</b>
</p><p>The demon and Aziraphale have sex on the altar of St. Peter's Basilica, and find some very inappropriate uses for anointing oil. The dubcon element comes from the fact that Aziraphale isn't certain whether this is a dream (and therefore just his own mind), or a visitation. Crowley tempts him into going with it anyway. He gives Aziraphale clear instructions on how to stop proceedings, and asks for verbal consent before penetration.</p><p>
  <b>Behind the scenes notes</b>
</p><p>I have NEVER written a smut scene as fast as this one. I knew that for it to work in the context of the story it had to reach a certain level of graphicness and blasphemy and ngl, I was pretty nervous. I've also never written dubcon before, and always been wary of doing so, but Aziraphale's uncertainty of whether it was a dream or not was important. In the end I figured the only way to do it was just write like my hair was on fire, and edit after. No stopping and second guessing!</p><p>Roo would like me to note that the backgrounds in the art are actually pics of the Basilica, doctored in photoshop. I think having real pics of the setting in the art is perfectly blasphemous for this chapter!!</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Repent</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Aziraphale awakes to a cold new day, where he must wrestle with everything he felt and experienced in the Basilica. Alone and afraid, he feels abandoned, even by the demon ... but has it really gone?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW for a hefty dose of internalised shame and homophobia.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Aziraphale startled awake in the cold grey of the pre-dawn, his body trembling and an obscene moan on his lips. Panting, he sat up in the nearly dark room. A quick self-examination confirmed his fears - his nightclothes were wet with his own seed, and his member was still half hard. He could barely think - his mind was still so full with the dream, his body still awash with forbidden sensations. He realised his face was wet with tears, though whether they were tears of pain or relief or fear he wasn’t at all sure. </p><p>Morning prayers. He had to say his morning prayers. He wasn’t entirely sure how he was going to face God after that, and he was honestly quite glad then that he didn’t experience God as directly as some of the other priests. But he had to get cleaned up first.</p><p>His legs trembled as he made his way to the bathroom. Filling the sink with water, he hastily stripped off his nightshirt and shoved it into the laundry basket. Glancing down at his body, he was gripped with shame at the sight of the white residue on his stomach. Of course he understood that one could not always control one’s body during nocturnal hours, but to experience a release while dreaming … of that … of it, felt unbearable.</p><p>Only when he glanced in the mirror did Aziraphale notice the three parallel scratch marks on his inner thigh. Three welts were a classic sign of possession. </p><p>Aziraphale couldn’t keep the tears from spilling down his face as he slowly cleaned himself up. So many years he had resisted his urges, telling himself that they were ungodly, that the only way to be forgiven for them was not to act on them. He’d never let himself be lonely, never let himself crave the things he knew he could never have. Even if he hadn’t been a priest, even if he’d been available, acting on the things he felt would be criminal. At least as a priest he would not be expected to marry, to betray himself by trying to lay with a woman.</p><p>He had never felt so trapped, or so alone. </p><p>“Are you happy?” He shouted to the empty room. “You have ruined me! How can I go on, knowing what I have done? What I felt, what I let you do to me? Show yourself!”</p><p>There was nothing but silence. Save for the scratches on his thigh, there was no sign of the demon.</p><p>“Oh so that’s your game, is it? Drag me into my own personal hell and leave me there? It’s no less than I deserve, I suppose.”</p><p>Heart aching with sorrow and terror, Aziraphale slowly dressed and knelt beside his bed, his favourite place to say his morning prayers. Every word came out perfectly. The house was a normal temperature, and everything was exactly where he’d left it the previous night.</p><p>He should have been relieved that the demon was apparently gone. But it felt like he would never be ok - that nothing would ever be ok - again. Pausing at the door before going to church, he spoke to the empty house.</p><p>“You were gentle with me. I don’t know why, but I suspect that as a demon you must be as frightened by that as I am by the lust I felt for you. I suppose you deserve to suffer for rebelling against God, but I cannot find it in my heart to condemn you when my sin is much worse. I …. Goodbye.”</p><p>The walk to Our Lady felt unnaturally long. How could he in good conscience lead his parishioners in Mass after such a dream? And what had he been thinking of to address the demon so? But there was nothing else for it now. It was too short notice to ask another priest to fill in for him, and he could not let his flock down. Though, in truth, he felt like he already had.</p><p>To his surprise, Aziraphale was able to perform Mass with no mistakes, despite his distraction. He supposed that was the benefit of doing the same thing for over twenty years. The church felt light and calm, as it should, and the hush was soothing. But still his guilt nagged at him, and when he ascended the pulpit to give his homily, he was painfully aware of the scratches on his thigh, hidden away but still raw. Somehow being so decently and properly covered under his cassock only served to remind him of how naked and wanton he had been in his dream. His cock twitched at the memory, making him grip the sides of the pulpit in horror, begging his wayward body to have some propriety. </p><p>At last it was over. Just the after-service coffee in the adjoining church hall to get through, and he could go home and decide what to do.</p><p>“Father Fell.”</p><p>Sarah Young looked vibrant and happy as she walked over to shake his hand. He had noticed her during his sermon, eyes bright, perfectly attentive to the words, and speaking the Mass naturally with no resistance. Now, she steered him into a quiet corner.</p><p>“I wanted to thank you again for what you did for me.”</p><p>“I was merely the vessel through which aid could come to you, my dear girl. God is the one you must thank.”</p><p>“Yeah, but some people wouldn’t have believed my mum when she called, even some priests, I bet.”</p><p>“Perhaps not. People do tend to eschew anything supernatural or, as they see it, superstitious, in this age of science and reason. But, you and I both know that sometimes the only explanation is a supernatural one, and we know that even then, God will reign.”</p><p>Sarah smiled at that, squeezing his hand once more before returning to her family.</p><p>Aziraphale was relieved when the last of his flock had gone home, aside from the gaggle of elderly ladies who always stayed behind to clear up the tea things and press extra slices of cake into his hands. Thanking them as graciously as he could, he hurried back to Crosswell Vicarage.</p><p>He had a few visits to make that afternoon. That would keep him occupied. He would sleep on it, he decided. His mother had taught him to always sleep on big decisions. He would carry out his priestly duties that afternoon, and say his regular Sunday prayers. Then he would bless his room to try and ward off the Evil One, and attempt to get a normal night’s sleep.</p><p>Hopefully in the morning, he would feel refreshed and able to make a clear-headed decision about his future. </p><p>As he sat down to a supper of Weetabix, unable to face cooking, Aziraphale had never felt so alone, or so afraid. How could he continue in the church after this? Was there enough absolution in the world? He certainly could not in good conscience continue as an exorcist, knowing that he himself had become possessed.</p><p>He should take Newt’s advice, he supposed, and call in another exorcist. Just because all was quiet, didn’t mean he was in the clear. Demons could hide away, only to resurface.</p><p>“I hope you’re happy,” he said brokenly to the empty room. “You have caused me such doubt that I hardly know how to go on, or what I shall do next. I have never felt so far from God.”</p><p>“Is that such a great loss?”</p><p>The voice seemed to come from across the table, as if the demon was sitting down to supper with him. Aziraphale startled, almost knocking his teacup from the table. Sighing, he pushed his bowl away and sat back in his chair, covering his face with his hands.</p><p>“Haven’t you done enough? Be gone, foul creature. Go back to Hell.”</p><p>Silence.</p><p>“You’ve won. I will surely end up in Hell with you anyway when I die. Oh but I suppose you must keep tormenting me, mustn’t you? It’s in your nature to cause as much pain as possible.”</p><p>“You said I was gentle with you,” the demon murmured, catching him off guard. “This morning, when you were leaving.”</p><p>“You were. When it mattered.”</p><p>“Then in your heart, you know it was no dream. I don't believe even your dreaming mind would have allowed you gentleness at such a moment.”</p><p>Aziraphale froze in his chair, staring at the empty space in front of him. He did know. He’d always known, he realised. Suddenly, it was too much. The lust, the fear, the confusion, the guilt of knowing he had giving Mass after such a disgustingly blasphemous act, the surety that he was a disappointment to God himself … he put his arms on the table, buried his face against them, and stopped fighting the sobs that had been building up in his throat.</p><p>“No … no, don’t do that,” the voice said, and Aziraphale felt a too-familiar hand on his upper back.</p><p>“Don’t touch me!” he snapped, and the hand drew back at once.</p><p>“I didn’t … know,” the demon answered in a confused tone, and Aziraphale raised his head, feeling equally confused.</p><p>“Didn’t know what? That possessing me, that tempting me to do such unspeakable things, would hurt me?”</p><p>“Well … no. I tempt. That’s what I do. I never stayed around to see the results before.”</p><p>“Well, here they are.” Aziraphale sat back and spread his hands wide. “You have taken everything I had faith in from me and left me utterly lost. I suppose for you that must be an achievement to be proud of. Though I cannot blame you. The fault was in me, or you could not have tempted me.”</p><p>“Don’t be too hard on yourself. I am good at my job, after all.”</p><p>“Your … job?”</p><p>“Well, yeah. Did you think I did this for fun? I’m a demon. Don’t get a lot of options.”</p><p>“But you like tempting people, I assume.”</p><p>“Obviously.”</p><p>There was a long silence. Aziraphale wanted to keep talking, even though he knew it was wrong. But he was damned anyway, so he thought he might as well keep going. How many priests got the opportunity to talk in such a manner with a demon? He might even learn something that he could pass on to others.</p><p>“Is that how you always tempt them?” he asked bluntly. After all, he assumed there was no topic out of bounds with a demon, save anything holy of course.</p><p>“I have never done that before. Usually just tempt them to adultery or self-pleasure, or indulging their most secret fetishes.”</p><p>“Oh well, that’s better then,” Aziraphale said drily. </p><p>“You asked. I told you.”</p><p>“Why was it different with me then? Did you think that as I’m a priest, you ought to punish me more? Make it as twisted as possible?”</p><p>Silence.</p><p>“Well if you’re not willing to tell me, you can just leave. You’ve done enough damage as it is, I have no interest in playing games with you now.” Aziraphale told it, standing up and reaching for a vial of holy water. Suddenly he felt invisible fingers wrapping around his wrist. He paused. Something in his heart told him that he could banish it, now. That it would not resist him. But he wanted to know the truth.</p><p>“Satan’s sake, I’ll tell you. I wanted you, alright?” the demon said sharply. Aziraphale noticed that its voice held none of its tempting resonance, but was warm and a little gravelly. He supposed that was another trick, to make it seem more human.</p><p>“You’re a demon. That’s what you do.”</p><p>“You don’t understand.” It sounded genuinely frustrated, and Aziraphale remembered his parting words to it that morning. Was it afraid of how it had acted? “I’m supposed to make other people feel lust and envy and greed. I’m not supposed to want someone like that!”</p><p>Aziraphale gave a hollow laugh. “You expect me to believe that you’ve never tempted someone into … relations … with you before?”</p><p>“I haven’t!” The hand squeezed tighter, then let go suddenly as if its owner remembered it was on thin ice. “I didn’t even have anything like a corporeal form until I met you!”</p><p>“That … that makes no sense. And I cannot listen to any more of this. Please be gone when I awake.”</p><p>Aziraphale walked quickly upstairs to bed, rushing through his evening ablutions, though he paid even more attention than usual to his nightly prayers. When he opened his eyes, before rising from his knees, for a split second he saw a pair of vivid yellow eyes with slitted pupils, bright in the darkness of his room. A long pale hand, the same hand he’d felt grasping his hips and thighs, reached towards him, stretching out of the darkness like a lonely ghost. </p>
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</div><p>Aziraphale could barely breathe. The eyes held a look of pleading so intense that it hurt his chest to see. Another trick, no doubt. Steeling himself against it, he got into bed, closing his eyes tightly. But still he saw that look in his mind’s eye, and he found he was fighting back tears. </p><p>“Fine,” he muttered into the darkness. “We can talk tomorrow, if only to conclude this madness so I can go on with my life.”</p><p>There was no answer. But Aziraphale could have sworn he felt a hand pass briefly, almost tenderly, through his hair, just as in his dream.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading, and all your lovely comments so far! You all are the best. </p><p><b>Behind the scenes notes</b><br/>When Roo showed me the first sketch of that pic, I knew I had to write it into the fic. Looking at it gave me a deep sense of longing and pain, and I knew that Aziraphale, practised as he is at dealing with people who are hurting, would see it too. </p><p>I think this is the saddest thing I've written, tbh. Usually even at their worst moments (Ghost Love Score I am side-eyeing you), my Aziraphales know they can rely on their Crowleys to help them. I sincerely want to wrap Father Fell in a blanket and make everything ok.</p><p>May I be forgiven for the cliffhanger ;-)</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Purgatory</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Aziraphale is finding it increasingly hard to continue as a priest and knows a difficult decision is close at hand. Newt tries to comfort his friend, but eventually Aziraphale has to return to the vicarage and do as he said: Have a conversation with the demon. Truths are revealed on both sides, and when the demon makes a bold request of Aziraphale, he makes one of his own in return ...</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW for Catholic guilt and internalised homophobia and shame.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The telephone shrilled at an unearthly volume, startling Aziraphale awake. The Diocese had insisted it was important he have one, even though so few homes did, in case any other clergy needed to get hold of him. Staggering out of bed to answer it, Aziraphale lamented the fact that the blasted thing had been invented at all.</p><p>“Hello?” His voice was rough and sleepy, and he felt bleary.</p><p>“Father Fell?” Newt’s voice said down the crackly line. “I’m in the church hall, for the roof fund meeting?”</p><p>Oh, bother. He had completely forgotten, and now poor Newt had ended up roped in when he was supposed to be on holiday.</p><p>“I’ll be right there, dear boy. My apologies.”</p><p>Hanging up, Aziraphale quickly dressed in plain black shirt and trousers, with his cassock and clerical collar over the top. It was a bitterly cold morning, so he added a greca, and put on his warmest pair of boots. Then he headed out into the frost-bitten day with a heavy heart.</p><p>Church roof fund meetings were hardly ever stimulating, but Aziraphale struggled to keep any focus at all. He kept replaying the previous night. The demon’s touch had been so gentle, its eyes so expressive, and even though he tried to tell himself that was part of its trickery, something in his heart was insisting otherwise. </p><p>The meeting finished at last, and Aziraphale was about to head for home, when he felt a gentle hand grasping his elbow.</p><p>“My family has gone to buy seeds for next year, and knowing how my mum fusses over her veggies, they won’t be back for a while. Why don’t you pop back to their house with me for some tea? I think we have some fruit cake.” Newt looked concerned and Aziaphale couldn’t blame him.</p><p>“That sounds lovely, dear boy, thank you.”</p><p>Sitting in Newt’s parents’ house with its floral print wallpaper and lace curtains, it was hard to feel anything but comforted. Newt cut them some thick slices of fruit cake, served on plates emblazoned with rather lurid swirls and dots of colour.</p><p>“My mum’s fascinated with Pop Art. Think she fancies herself a bit of a trend setter,” Newt explained, as Aziraphale took a bite of the delicious, moist fruitcake. Newt waited until Aziraphale had drunk his tea, and had a second cup, before he asked the question Aziraphale had sensed was coming.</p><p>“Can you tell me what’s really wrong? I’m worried about you. Not just as a fellow priest, as a friend.”</p><p>Aziraphale stared down into his empty cup. How could he begin to explain to someone else? Who would believe him?</p><p>In the end, he tried his best to tell the truth at the heart of the matter, while skipping some details.</p><p>“I have developed a somewhat complex … relationship … with someone. It is quite forbidden. Were I not a priest, it would still be so.” Aziraphale could hear his own voice cracking as he tried to hold back the tears that burned like hellfire in his eyes. “I have fallen to lust and covetousness in ways I cannot bear to speak aloud. I am uncertain of my future with the church.”</p><p>Newt nodded slowly, seemingly taking it all in.</p><p>“The other person is a man,” he said. It was a statement, not a question. </p><p>Aziraphale looked down, but he might as well have nodded.</p><p>“Father Fell … “ Newt reached over and squeezed his arm gently when he froze, unable to reply. “I’ve known for a long time now. I don’t judge you.”</p><p>“You don’t?”</p><p>"How can I? I know it’s probably heresy or something, but I can’t see what’s so wrong with loving someone, of any gender. Do you love him?”</p><p>Aziraphale made a sound that didn’t know whether to be a laugh or a sob. “I’d hardly say that.”</p><p>“You’re not happy in the church though. That’s obvious, if you don’t mind my saying.”</p><p>“I suppose not. But is happiness much of a consideration? It’s a duty.”</p><p>“It’s a calling,” Newt said. “Oh, I suppose people do go into the church for all kinds of complex reasons, but ideally, it ought to be a calling.”</p><p>Aziraphale felt small, suddenly. Everything was stripped down to one simple truth: His faith was so deeply shaken that he didn’t know if it could ever recover. He said so, and Newt gave him a look of sympathy.</p><p>“That’s a matter between you and God. Or at least … between you and your own conscience.”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“Sometimes you have to choose between what you have been taught is Godly and what feels right in your heart. They’re not always the same thing.”</p><p>“But to choose anything except what’s Godly is a sin, Newt. You know that.”</p><p>Newt took a gulp of tea, and put his cup down. “None of us can live a perfect life, Father Fell. But I find it hard to believe that God would want anyone to be miserable. Being a priest is a very specific calling. There’s no shame in knowing in your heart it’s not the one for you.”</p><p>“I’m not at all sure about that, but thank you.”</p><p>The conversation turned to lighter matters then, but Aziraphale couldn’t stop thinking about what Newt had said. He supposed God already knew that his true motivation for going into the church was to help him shut away all the things society would not accept. He’d always felt that he and God had something of an understanding: Aziraphale might not be the most spiritually aware priest, but he worked hard and did as much good as possible.</p><p>Maybe that wasn’t enough. Maybe it had never been enough.</p><p>“I’ll always be here for you as a friend,” Newt told him as they parted, insisting Aziraphale take some of the cake home with him. “No matter what your path.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Aziraphale said gratefully, then hurried for home. </p><p>When he reached the cottage and opened the door, he said, “Are you here?” There was no answer, but he felt an icy breeze pass over his hands and face.</p><p>“I said we could talk today. It will be easier if you speak to me as you did yesterday. I am going to fetch tea, and then we will sit in the living room and talk like civilized people.”</p><p>A few minutes later, Aziraphale had a fire going in the grate, and was placing two cups of tea, in his favourite rose patterned china, on the table.</p><p>“You made me tea.” The demon sounded bemused.</p><p>“Habit, I suppose. One normally makes tea for a guest. What did you mean?” He added bluntly, before he could talk himself out of it.</p><p>“What did I mean when?”</p><p>The demon’s voice was warm and human sounding again, and seemed to come from the other armchair, as if they were sitting and having an ordinary chat. </p><p>“At the end of the … the dream. You said <em>that shouldn’t have</em> and then I woke up. I wish to know what you were about to say.”</p><p>There was a long silence, in which the fire guttered and the window opened suddenly.</p><p>“Now, stop that. Speak plain to me.”</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>“I won’t ask again. You want to talk. Then talk.”</p><p>“<em>That shouldn’t have happened</em>. That’s what I was going to say.”</p><p>“What, specifically?”</p><p>Aziraphale sipped his tea and looked into the fire. He needed answers, but he would not force the demon to give them. He had said they could talk, so it would not be fair to treat the conversation like a common exorcism.</p><p>“I felt … things ... towards you. Things unbecoming of a demon. That I could get in a lot of trouble for.”</p><p>“I wasn’t aware demons could get in trouble for feeling lust.” Aziraphale muttered, and was shocked when the other teacup shattered, spilling tea all over the table.</p><p>“I can’t say it, alright? The words stick when I try.”</p><p>“Try harder!” Aziraphale could hear how angry he sounded, and it shocked him. He’d always been rather successful at keeping his anger in check.</p><p>“I wanted to protect you, and bring you pleasure,” the demon ground out, the words strained. “Shouldn’t have felt that.”</p><p>Aziraphale leaned back in his chair and covered his face with his hands. Was this really happening?</p><p>“Can’t you just leave?” he said, aware that it came out a touch petulant, though he supposed that was understandable given the circumstances.</p><p>“Didn’t it mean anything?” The demon said with shocking desperation in its voice.</p><p>“Beg pardon?”</p><p>“What we did.”</p><p>“What we did was blasphemy. Which I suppose you loved, but you know perfectly well I have been wracked with guilt ever since. Anyway, look, I have another question before we part. What did you mean when you said you didn’t have a corporeal form before we met?”</p><p>“What I said. I had a form once, in Eden, but since then I’ve been more of a concept, an incorporeal collection of energy.”</p><p>“Why do you have more of a form now then?”</p><p>“Got it from your deepest desires. You wanted someone striking and tall, with long hands and red hair …”</p><p>“Stop!” Hearing his own secret desires, knowing the demon had molded itself to them, made him feel queasy.</p><p>There was a long, sick-feeling heartbeat of silence, before the demon spoke again. “Let me touch you. Nothing sexual. Just let me put my hands on you.”</p><p>“Why on earth would I let you do that?” Aziraphale exclaimed, shocked at its audaciousness, hurriedly shoving away the sudden feeling of want that rose in him at the words.</p><p>“Because if you don’t, you’ll never know if what you felt that night was some trick of your subconscious, or if you felt genuine attraction to me.”</p><p>“Let me see you.” He rejoindered.</p><p>“What?” The demon sounded as surprised as Aziraphale felt. He really must be losing his mind, he supposed, to suggest such a thing.</p><p>“You want to be allowed to put your hands on me. Well, I want to see you in this world, not the dream world.”</p><p>“The easiest way to see me would probably be in a mirror …”</p><p>Aziraphale looked up at the large mirror over the fire, where he’d seen the holy water scars on his forehead. Feeling angry and afraid and tired and, above it all, ready for some answers, he got up and stood facing the mirror. </p><p>“Let me see you, then.”</p><p>Aziraphale watched as a smoky shadow appeared in the glass behind him. As it took shape, the first thing he saw was a pair of huge black wings, which he could not help noticing the beauty of. Then the demon took shape behind him. It was tall - the top of Aziraphale’s head only just reached its nose - and ghostly-pale in the dim light. As Aziraphale watched, its halo came into view. He hadn’t expected a demon to have a halo but he supposed it made sense, as it must have once been an angel. Its halo was a crescent shape, giving the appearance of horns. </p><p>“Maybe now would be a good time to pray,” it said sardonically. </p><p>Then it reached around Aziraphale and rested its hand on his chest. The gesture was so possessive that Aziraphale felt a little weak. Closing his eyes, he pressed his hands together and prayed more earnestly than he’d ever prayed before. He humbled his spirit before God, pleading for a sign, any sign, that God was still listening …. had ever been listening. </p><p>His heart was so open. It was so open. Yet there was only silence. Tears streaked his face as he realised that God had most likely already forsaken him, for what he was doing. Was he testing God? How could he let a demon lay a hand on him, and then expect God to respond?</p><p>He had no business calling himself a priest.</p><p>Aziraphale was so lost in his pain that he didn’t notice the demon moving. Suddenly, long fingers were touching his cheek. Aziraphale opened his eyes and looked in the mirror, to see the demon brushing the back of its hand against his cheek, its fingers gently wiping the tears from his face. The hand on his chest pressed more firmly, pulling him back against the demon as if it would protect him, and its immense black wings folded around Aziraphale like a shield. </p>
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</div><p>“God will always see you as a sinner, as long as you live, because you cannot change what you feel or who you want. Believe me, I know how stubborn He is.”</p><p>“You … you didn’t want to be a demon?”</p><p>“Who wants to be a demon? I just asked a few too many questions. Unfortunately for me, asking those questions marked me as a blasphemer and rebel, and there’s a place for people like that.”</p><p>“A place I fear I am going now as well.”</p><p>The demon didn’t answer that, just pulled him even closer.</p><p>“Seems like God doesn’t want either of us,” it commented, its tone more sad now than sardonic.</p><p>“Seems not,” Aziraphale said, closing his eyes, and raising his hand to grip the demon’s forearm and keep it held close. </p><p>The demon moved so they were facing each other. Aziraphale saw it in the reflection first, then he saw the faint image of the demon in front of him, growing more vivid, just as it had the previous night when it reached out of the darkness. When it brushed its knuckles tenderly against his cheek, Aziraphale wrapped his fingers around its wrist, but wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted to stop it, or draw it closer. Its hair was a fall of blood red over its shoulders, and ancient snake-like yellow eyes gazed into his.</p><p>“We shouldn’t…” he said, rather breathlessly.</p>
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</div><p>“Please,” the demon replied, and it was so open and honest, that before he could question what he was doing, Aziraphale leaned up to meet it, eyes drifting closed, as he let the demon kiss him. It wrapped both arms around him and kissed him so tenderly, so slowly and softly, that he wanted to cry. He slid his arms around its narrow waist and he kissed it back just as carefully, his heart telling him that the demon needed gentleness, no matter how much his head protested.</p><p>As they drew back, the demon raised one eyebrow in a strangely human gesture. </p><p>“I … I think we’re both in trouble now.”</p><p>Aziraphale had to agree.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you all for following along and for the lovely comments! It's amazing to hear your thoughts about dark!Crowley and Father Fell. Keep an eye out for the next chapter on Monday!</p><p> <b>Behind the scenes notes</b></p><p>Where do I even begin to talk about the art in this chapter? The image of Crowley standing behind Aziraphale is the one that started it all! I always have to take a moment to admire Roo's art, because it's brilliant and I love it, but that image DID something to me. Like I could not stop thinking about it. I don't know if it was Crowley's intense eyes, the way he's holding Aziraphale, Azi's mixed emotions of wanting to be tempted and wanting to resist, or even that I have a thing for long haired Crowleys, and wings! Most likely a combination.</p><p>But either way, I couldn't let it go, so I asked Roo if I could write something to go with it. She said yes (yay!) and we spent some time brainstorming. She told me what she'd had in mind, and the emotions they were feeling, and I shared what I saw in the pic, and a few hours later we had the bones of Apotheosis.  Roo gave me the space to develop dark!Crowley and I'm so grateful for that, because he's been so interesting to flesh out and write.</p><p>One of my fave things about writing for Roo's art is that it has so much emotion and so many details in it, and it's so much fun to pick up on those and then think about, why that? What are they feeling? Why that particular touch, or expression? This does also give me an excuse to stare at it for a good long while ;-)</p><p>Every new picture added something to the fic. When Roo showed me the almost-kiss, I a) had to go lie down for a minute, and b) saw how much they were both being tempted by the other. The hint of softness in Crowley's face informed the preceding conversation, because I could see he was falling (pun not intended) for Aziraphale, and quite baffled and shaken by it.</p><p>Dark Crowley is such a closed book that some of his softer lines of dialogue didn't actually get added until the final edit before posting. Roo came up with suggestions to make him talk (make him think Aziraphale is going to stop talking to him), and Mira put words in his mouth during beta reading, so really he's a team effort!</p><p>Edited to add because I nearly forgot: The conversation where Newt tells Aziraphale that sometimes you have to choose between what is Godly and what feels right in your heart came to me in a dream. I saw them both as if I was in the room with them, and heard what they said. I literally jumped out of bed and wrote down Newt's dialogue before I could forget it.</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Laicization</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>As the laicization process begins, Aziraphale finds himself wondering what his future holds. But he isn't alone, and when he and the demon meet in the dreamworld again, they both find themselves more vulnerable and honest than they'd intended to be.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW some continuation of Aziraphale's shame and worry, and also more smut.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“There are options, Aziraphale. We can give you counselling. You can still be saved from this … aberration.”</p><p>Aziraphale squeezed his hands together so tightly he felt the nails digging in his palms, trying to act calm and collected. He had hoped that Bishop Herald, who had always been rather condescending, would agree that Aziraphale was past saving, and authorise his laicization without question. </p><p>But for all his brash ways, the Bishop did love God, and clearly wanted to help Aziraphale stay in the fold. It was meant kindly, but Aziraphale knew in his deepest heart that he could not stay, not after the things he had done and felt. For one thing, if he was so corruptible, he might put his parishioners in danger, or guide them wrongly, and he could not bear that.</p><p>“What will you do?” Gabriel asked, with a note of genuine concern.</p><p>“I don’t know yet. I have friends who will not see me homeless, though. I will be alright.”</p><p>Gabriel steepled his fingers, his deep blue, almost purple, eyes boring into Aziraphale’s, as if trying to work him out. After a long moment, he sighed heavily and shook his head.</p><p>“There’s nothing I can say to persuade you to try another option first? You are hardly the first priest to feel love, or to … indulge oneself. Your parishioners have always been very happy with you, and you have performed well as an exorcist.”</p><p>“No. Please … please just make the application.”</p><p>Another long silence. Then Gabriel sat back with a heavy sigh, as if he couldn’t waste any more time on Aziraphale.</p><p>“Very well. I will start the application process.”</p><p>Aziraphale nodded and stood up, saying a polite thanks before hurrying from the Canonry.</p><p>He had nowhere to go. He wasn’t ready to face his father, and Newt had done so much for him already that he didn’t want to trouble his friend further. He wasn’t sure if going home would help, or make things worse. After all, Crosswell Vicarage wouldn’t be his home for much longer. Aziraphale was relieved that he’d lived very modestly on his wages, so at least he had a little money put aside.</p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p>Aziraphale flinched, but he was growing used to the demon’s sudden appearances.</p><p>“That is no help whatsoever,” he told it. And yet, he was glad it was there. Had he sunk so low, as to be glad of a demon’s company? No. Something in his heart told him that was not entirely the whole story. </p><p>“Oh, come on,” he said into the silence. “You got me into this mess, you might as well keep me company for a bit.”</p><p>If the demon gave a soft sigh of pleasure and delight at the suggestion, well, they could both pretend that hadn’t happened. </p><p>Half an hour later, Aziraphale was sitting in a cafe with striped wallpaper and rather frilly curtains, sipping a passable coffee, and trying very hard not to panic about his future. </p><p>“You’ll work something out,” the demon said softly. “I’ve watched you for long enough. You’re clever, and determined.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Aziraphale said awkwardly. </p><p>By the time he got home, he was exhausted. Not from demonic influence this time, but from being so overwrought. He hoped the application wouldn’t take too long. Better to get it over with as soon as possible.</p><p>As he lay down to sleep that night, he heard the demon’s voice.</p><p>“Perhaps a God who does not want you as you are is not worth your respect. Did you ever think of that?”</p><p>“That’s blasphemy. But what else would I expect from you?” Aziraphale replied with a sad, almost fond smile. The thought strengthened his heart a little, and when he felt the demon stroke his hair, he did not pull away.</p><p>The dream started not in a church this time, but in a vast, elegant bedroom with charcoal coloured walls and an ornate black four-poster draped in deep grey sheets with red trim. The demon lay naked on the bed, its blood-red curls stark against its pale skin.</p><p>“Oh, for crying out loud,” Aziraphale muttered, but didn’t step back or try to awaken.</p><p>“You know for sure that this isn’t a dream.” The demon drawled, running its hand over its own long, hard cock in a way that made Aziraphale want to look away, even as the more base part of his nature wanted to approach the bed. “So what are you going to do about it?”</p><p>Aziraphale walked over to the bed and sat on the edge of it.</p><p>“I don’t know,” he said honestly, and the demon’s eyes softened for a moment, before it collected itself and gave him an evil smile.</p><p>“You will soon be barred from all priestly duties, and you’ve already done things that would make a saint turn in their grave. What does it matter what you do now?”</p><p>Aziraphale said nothing. The combined lust and horror deep in his gut was making him feel a little queasy. </p><p>“I could ask you the same question. You’ve already tempted me to destruction. You can’t do any worse harm, so why bother now?”</p><p>That seemed to catch the demon off guard. It sat up suddenly, pulling the bedclothes up to cover itself as if feeling vulnerable. Strangely touched by the gesture, Aziraphale climbed onto the bed and sat beside it.</p><p>“You can speak freely.” He told the demon. “It’s not as if I’m going to report you to your superiors - I would not wish to, even if I knew how.”</p><p>The demon refused to meet his gaze, staring at the bedclothes, its jaw clenched. Eventually it spoke. “I told you before that I wanted to protect you, and bring you pleasure. That I should not have felt so.”</p><p>“And …?” Aziraphale prompted, as gently as he could. For whatever the creature before him was and whatever it had done, he knew pain and conflict when he saw it.</p><p>“And I liked it,” the demon said miserably. “You were … so unfettered. There was freedom in being with you. Freedom is an alien concept to me.”</p><p>Aziraphale felt utterly wrong-footed. He wanted to ask the demon, would Hell know? Would they know if you took your pleasure with me again? Or could it be just between us? But without the blazing fire of decades of pent-up lust, and the demon actively tempting him, he felt fragile and inexperienced. </p><p>“You’ve never been allowed to want anything for yourself,” he said, realisation dawning. “Nothing good, at least.”</p><p>“I can desire to ruin and destroy lives, obviously.”</p><p>“Mmm-hmm.” Aziraphale risked reaching out and taking the demon’s hand in his. It looked shocked, but didn’t pull away. “But you’re not allowed to want to feel good, or loved, or to experience pleasure unless it’s in the pursuit of harm.”</p><p>“Nope.”</p><p>Aziraphale was surprised to find himself choking up. The demon’s fate seemed so cruel.</p><p>“When we kissed …” he began, but found he had not the words to speak of it. The demon shook its head minutely. It dare not speak of it either.</p><p>“Might I … perhaps … hold you?”</p><p>“Hold me?”</p><p>“Would Hell know?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Well then.” Sounding far braver than he felt, Aziraphale opened his arms to the demon. </p><p>It sneered at first as if trying to intimidate him. Aziraphale said nothing, but offered an encouraging smile and a little nod, to let the demon know that he understood. The demon did not respond immediately, but after several long moments it slid across the bed and curved awkwardly against his side, resting its head on his shoulder. Aziraphale was struck again by how tall and beautiful it was, how long and elegant its hands were. For a moment, they felt like nothing so much as two weary travellers who had trod the same hard road. </p><p>He hadn’t meant to touch the demon, beyond putting his arm around it as he had promised. But when he shifted position to get more comfortable, his fingertips accidentally brushed the demon’s collarbone, causing it to let out an irritated hiss.</p><p>“My apologies.”</p><p>“No, I liked it. Damn you.”</p><p>The demon bit its lip hard as if realising what it had said, and though his stomach lurched with fear, Aziraphale said nothing. When the demon’s hand brushed Aziraphale’s belly, through the very sensible jumper and shirt his mind had seen fit to give him this time, he shivered a little. The demon tilted its face up to him then, with a questioning look. When Aziraphale neither reacted nor drew away, the demon passed its hand slowly over his chest, the heat of its hand radiating even through the layers.</p><p>Aziraphale felt frozen. He couldn’t ask for what he wanted - and even if his mind tried to deny that he wanted it, the tightness in his trousers told an entirely different story. Yet it felt ingenuous to pretend that he didn’t want more. To act as if their terrible, beautiful congress in the Basilica, and their brief kiss the night he saw the demon in the mirror, meant nothing.</p><p>The demon reached up then and cupped his face, its long black talons pushing into his hair. </p><p>“I -” Aziraphale began, and the demon deliberately rubbed its thumb along his lower lip, as if to shush him.</p><p>“You don’t have to say anything.”</p><p>“But -” It seemed terribly unfair not to say something.</p><p>“Aziraphale,” the demon said, and Aziraphale realised it had never used his name before. It sounded alarmingly lovely in that smoke and honey voice.  “Let’s be frank. Neither us has the first fucking clue what we’re doing here.”</p><p>Aziraphale surprised himself with a laugh. The demon had a point.</p><p>“Look,” the demon continued, its smile surprisingly sweet, for a demon. “I just … don’t want any games this time. Which is a failing on my part as a demon. I’m shit at understanding human nature beyond lust, but I’m going to hazard a guess here. You don’t think you can ask me for what you want, but you don’t want to wake up either?”</p><p>Aziraphale sighed, then gave a quick nod. The demon stroked his face again, then looked at its own hand as if confused by the action.</p><p>“Why did you come with me to see the Bishop?” Aziraphale asked suddenly, the strangeness of it dawning on him. “Why did you come with me to the cafe after, for that matter?”</p><p>“You were lonely. And afraid. And it was my doing. Would have seemed churlish to abandon you.”</p><p>“Not very demonic of you,” Aziraphale pointed out, and the demon shrugged one shoulder.</p><p>“Not like you had anyone else.”</p><p>“You wanted to help me,” Aziraphale said faintly, unsure what to do with that information.</p><p>“Yeah, ‘spose.”</p><p>Aziraphale nodded. Then he stroked the demon’s cheek, eliciting another surprised hiss. When the demon leaned closer, its lips inches from his own, Azirahale leaned in to meet it, cupping its face gently as they kissed, over and over.</p><p>The demon pulled back to say something, but stopped. Then it huffed as if in annoyance at itself and tried again. “Came here tonight hoping to persuade you into letting me touch you again, but not to tempt you. Eyes wide open, or not at all.”</p><p>“I understand. I … um … might need you to take the lead still.”</p><p>“I can do that. But I need to hear you say it clearly.”</p><p>“I want you to take the lead. I want to be naked and intimate with you again. And I want us to agree that if -either- of us says stop, we stop. Understood?”</p><p>The demon nodded.</p><p>“Well then.” Aziraphale smiled for what felt like the first time in months. “Let us not torment ourselves any further.” He pulled the demon closer and kissed it a little inexpertly, but with genuine enthusiasm. </p><p>For a long time they simply kissed, Aziraphale still fully dressed atop the bed, and the demon half-covered by the silky sheets. When it slid its hand around Azitaphale’s waist and pressed much closer to him, Aziraphale shivered. He gave the demon’s thigh a gentle stroke, murmuring, “you feel lovely.”</p><p>The demon withdrew immediately.</p><p>“Was that wrong?” Aziraphale asked, confused.</p><p>“No … no. Only, it was so affectionate.”</p><p>“And that’s bad?”</p><p>The demon rolled onto its back and stared up at the ceiling, amber eyes serious. Suddenly, Aziraphale understood.</p><p>“This is as illicit for you, as the Basilica was for me.”</p><p>The demon didn’t answer, just nodded once, sharply.</p><p>“And are you … are you willing to let me give you this, just as you gave me what I needed?”</p><p>“Why on earth would you do that?”  The demon rolled its head to the side to look at him, expression baffled.</p><p>“Well,” Aziraphale said matter-of-factly as he took off his jumper. “You wanted to bring me pleasure. I want to bring you gentleness. And if one or both of us regrets it when I awake, we will leave it in the dreamworld and move on. What do you think?”</p><p>“I think my answer is yes.”</p><p>Aziraphale was more relieved than he wanted to admit. Lifting his hands to the buttons of his shirt, he hesitated. In a more rational headspace, it was hard not to feel self conscious. The demon was very alluring, and Aziraphale was middle aged and portly. </p><p>“Let me?” the demon said gently, reaching for his buttons. Aziraphale inclined his head, and the demon undid his shirt carefully, then removed his vest, too. </p><p>Aziraphale stood up, and the demon, unbidden, moved to the edge of the bed so it could reach out and undo Aziraphale’s trousers, pushing them down his thighs. Then it hooked its long nails in the waistband of his underpants, looking up at him and waiting for permission. Aziraphale gently pushed its wrists downwards, encouraging it to strip him naked. Then he pulled back the covers and slipped into bed with the demon, who pulled him close and kissed him again, its hands roaming over his body, long nails gently scratching his back and thighs until he was moaning softly into the demon’s mouth.</p><p>When he cupped the demon’s hips in his hands and started pressing kisses over its - his - chest and stomach, the demon moaned softly, grasping at Aziraphale. The demon’s cock was enticingly hard, and suddenly Aziraphale wanted to do to the demon what he had done to Aziraphale in the Basilica. </p><p>He worked his way between the demon’s legs, licking and sucking his cock tentatively at first, then with more confidence as the demon buried his hand in Aziraphale’s hair, legs shaking. By the time Aziraphale carefully took the demon’s length in his mouth, his partner was moaning and writhing and giving sharp cries of pleasure.</p><p>Aziraphale was rocked by a wave of tenderness that left him seeing stars. This strange, beautiful, wicked creature, who somehow, despite his nature, had reached out for pleasure and connection, had never been shown affection. Aziraphale had to draw back for a moment, burying his face against the demon’s hip and choking back tears.</p><p>“Hey.” The demon stroked his hair and patted his shoulder awkwardly, obviously concerned. “We can stop.”</p><p>“It’s not that,” Aziraphale told him, moving so they were face to face. “I’m just sad that no one has ever been affectionate to you.”</p><p>The demon laughed. “Obviously not, demons aren’t made for it.”</p><p>“You might be made for it.” Aziraphale pulled his infernal lover to him and pressed slow kisses over his neck, hands caressing and holding the demon as if he was precious. </p><p>The demon tried to pull away, so Aziraphale let go. But after several minutes of breathing hard, as if he couldn’t quite get his body working right, the demon moved in again and let Aziraphale continue. </p><p>After a long time of gently holding and kissing the demon, Aziraphale couldn’t help becoming very aware of his partner’s erection pressing into his hip. He gave a low groan as he reached down to stroke it, his own cock throbbing in response. </p><p>When the demon curled his long fingers around Aziraphale’s cock, stroking firmly with a hand that was, by some dream magic it seemed, slick with lubricant, Aziraphale moaned loudly. He kissed the demon more urgently then, unable to keep from grinding into his hand. The demon rewarded him with a desperate moan, suddenly hooking his leg over Aziraphale’s hip to get better leverage for rocking into his hand. </p><p>“Would you like me inside you?” Aziraphale asked the demon, shocked at his own boldness. But it was surprisingly easy to be brave, when the demon was responding to every touch and kiss with delicious moans and gasps, hands all over Aziraphale, kissing him back with passion.</p><p>“Yessss, angel,” the demon hissed, shaking in his arms. </p><p>“Angel?” Aziraphale asked softly, trembling at the word. “That’s rather … blasphemous.”</p><p>“Not blasphemous,” the demon panted, hands all over Aziraphale, pressing hungry kisses to his shoulder and speaking against his skin. “You’re good and kind and so much better than  …. than anyone I’ve encountered … fuck you feel so good ….”</p><p>Before Aziraphale could say anything else, the demon rolled onto its front. Aziraphale had the distinct impression that his partner didn’t feel ready for the intimacy of having sex face to face, lest his expression betray his undemonic feelings. </p><p>“That’s alright,” Aziraphale said softly in the demon’s ear. “That’s quite alright, I’ve got you.”</p><p>He was about to rather awkwardly ask about lubrication, when his dreaming mind  thankfully manifested a small bottle on the bed. Tipping some over his fingers, he let them slide between the demon’s buttocks, biting his lip hard to keep from moaning. It was so intimate and strange and yet he wanted nothing more than to keep going. His shaft felt heavy and hot at the thought of what he was doing. He found the demon’s entrance and rubbed gently until he felt the tight muscle relax a little, allowing him to slide his finger inside. </p><p>“Please,” the demon said softly. “I’m ready. Not as fragile as a human.”</p><p>“Does that mean you don’t deserve gentleness?” Aziraphale replied quietly, free hand rubbing the demon’s back soothingly. “Let me get you ready, so it will be more comfortable.”</p><p>The demon said nothing, but sighed softly as if in pleasure, opening his legs wider to give Aziraphale better access. Aziraphale’s cock twitched at the sight, leaking slightly as he continued pressing and exploring, carefully adding a second finger, and then a third when he was sure the demon was ready. The trusting way the demon lay still, save for rocking his hips a little with obvious pleasure, letting Aziraphale penetrate and open him, brought tears to Aziraphale’s eyes again. When his partner gave a keening moan, clenching against his fingers, Aziraphale lay over the demon’s back, and wrapped one arm around to keep him close, the other still rocking slowly and gently into the demon’s body.</p><p>“Oh …. “ the demon breathed. “Oh you’re so … so caring.”</p><p>“Yes.” Aziraphale spoke gently to the creature in his arms. “That’s ok, let me be kind to you. You’re quite exquisite, you know, such beautiful long limbs, and fiery hair …”</p><p>The demon whimpered then, bucking slightly.</p><p>“You can’t say such things,” he muttered, but very noticeably didn’t say “stop.” Aziraphale nuzzled into the demon’s neck as he reached down and slowly guided his cock inside the demon, groaning at the tightness and heat.</p><p>“Why not?” he asked, his voice gentle. “Maybe you need to hear that you’re lovely. That you are allowed affection.”</p><p>As he spoke, he rocked his hips slowly, getting a little deeper each time. The sensation was so new and so intimate that he was quite certain he was blushing. He moaned against the demon’s shoulder as he rocked his hips, a little shy, but enamoured of the way they fit together. The demon was so very tempting, even when it wasn’t trying, as if it was made to hit right at the heart of Aziraphale’s desires. </p><p>When the demon reached back and grabbed his hip, pulling him in tighter, Aziraphale could hardly bear the craving that flooded his body. The only relief he could find was in grasping the demon’s thighs, holding him in place as Aziraphale lost control until he was rutting into the demon.</p><p>“You tempting thing,” he said quietly into the demon’s ear, panting hard. “You feel so good in my arms.”</p><p>The demon gave a sharp cry at that, burying his face in the pillow, but he dug his nails in Aziraphale’s hip and encouraged him to move even harder.</p><p>“I’ve got you.” Aziraphale wrapped his arms tight around the demon and held him close. “That’s it, you’re allowed this. I want you to feel good.”</p><p>Thus saying, he changed the angle of his thrusts a little, seeking out that place inside the demon that he knew would make him see stars. When the demon threw his head back on a broken moan, Aziraphale knew he’d found it. Keeping the demon held close, he focussed on hitting that spot on each thrust, one hand sliding down to stroke the demon’s cock in time. The demon whimpered with pleasure, almost sobbing with it as Aziraphale nosed gently at his long neck and pressed kisses across his shoulder blades. </p><p>“Aren’t you beautiful?” He said softly. “So lovely. So deserving of kindness.”</p><p>“Please.” The demon groaned. “I can’t, if you keep talking like that, I can’t …”</p><p>“Then don’t hold back. Let yourself have this.” Aziraphale pushed the demon’s hair aside and pressed a tender kiss to the back of his neck. “Let yourself be loved.”</p><p>The demon came with a muttered curse, holding Aziraphale’s hip so tight that Aziraphale couldn’t pull back, couldn’t do anything except let his hips jerk against the demon as he came inside his lover. Spent, he collapsed over the demon’s back, stroking the long coppery hair and pressing one last, tender kiss to the sharp angle of the demon’s shoulder.</p><p>“Don’t know how I’m supposed to leave you alone after that,” the demon muttered sleepily.</p><p>“That’s tomorrow’s problem,” Aziraphale murmured into the demon’s hair, rolling to the side and drawing the demon into his arms. When he heard the demon’s breathing go sleep-soft, he muttered into the darkness, “I don’t know how I’m going to let you go, either,” keeping the demon held against him as he drifted into sleep.</p>
<hr/><p>“My mum’s got a cottage in Glastonbury.” Newt said over the phone. Aziraphale had received the final papers, and was now obliged to leave Crosswell Vicarage. “She lets it out to holidaymakers. Bet she’d give you a good rate.”</p><p>“Won’t she be horrified, Newt?”</p><p>“I told you Father … Aziraphale … she’s pretty progressive. Anyway, she likes you, especially since you said her fruitcake was the best you’d ever had. At least let me ask?”</p><p>“Yes … yes, alright. That would be very kind of you.”</p><p>“I’ll come see you when you’re settled. If that’s alright.”</p><p>Aziraphale smiled a little. “That would be lovely.”</p><p>Hanging up the phone, he spoke to the seemingly empty hall. “I suppose you heard that?”</p><p>The creak of the window in the lounge swinging open of its own accord seemed like an affirmative.</p><p>“If you … wanted to stay with me. I mean, come with me to Glastonbury … that is to say, you can keep in touch, if you would like to.”</p><p>This time, there was a sudden scent of roses. That was new. </p><p>“Jolly good. At least you don’t have anything to pack.”</p><p>Chalice Cottage was a tiny, quaint stone terraced cottage on Chilkwell Street, between Glastonbury Abbey and the Chalice Well. It felt cosy and warm, and Aziraphale liked it immediately. Glastonbury was, as Newt had told him, “a little bit odd.” The ministers there were more liberal than any he’d ever met, mingling happily with the more unusual spiritual sorts with their drumming circles and bright clothes. Although he did not feel comfortable going into any of the churches, Aziraphale did like chatting with some of the clergy on the handful of occasions they’d met at a community event or even in the local pub.</p><p>Newt visited when he was able, and it felt just like old times. They talked long into the night about anything and everything. Aziraphale could see that Newt was troubled and questioning, and he felt intensely guilty about it. Was there no end to the damage his weakness had caused?</p><p>One evening, when Newt had come to stay for a couple of nights, they settled down for a game of chess. Aziraphale felt like he was prevaricating around the things he wanted to say, trying to calculate the best time and way to say it in much the same way he was calculating which chess piece to move.</p><p>“You’ll feel better if you say whatever’s on your mind.” Newt said gently, as Aziraphale lost his rook thanks to a ridiculous mistake.</p><p>“You seem troubled.” Aziraphale said at last, knowing he couldn’t lie to his dearest friend. “As if my laicization has sown doubt into your mind also. I cannot bear it, Newt. To think that my own weakness has caused your faith to waver …”</p><p>Newt shook his head, reaching over and giving Aziraphale’s wrist a quick reassuring squeeze.</p><p>“You know as well as I that a person’s relationship with God, and the church, is between that person and the Creator. If your actions could shake my faith, what sort of faith would it be? My faith in God remains unchanged. It’s my faith in the church that wavers.”</p><p>Aziraphale wasn’t sure if that was comforting or not, but he gestured for Newt to continue. </p><p>“If God is love, if the greatest commandment is love your neighbour, if love is not easily angered and keeps no record of wrongs, how can it be God’s will to condemn a man for appreciating other men? If we are all made in God’s image, how can your image be broken? It makes no sense to me.”</p><p>“I wish I had an answer for you.” Aziraphale said sadly. “I wish I had one for myself.”</p><p>Newt smiled as Aziraphale regained his stride, and took Newt’s knight. “Aziraphale, these are questions that only I can seek answers to. But please, be easier in your mind about it. It’s not your feelings that caused my doubt. It’s whether I can truly support an institution who would condemn the best priest - the best man - I’ve ever met.”</p><p>“Steady on. I don’t deserve such praise.” Aziraphale said, but he felt a little lighter in his heart.</p><p>Despite everything, life in Glastonbury was pleasant. He missed looking after his parishioners, and so he found himself volunteering for as many community causes as possible. His days were filled with everything from helping out at a small community garden, to helping to organise arts festivals and theatre programs to showcase local talent. He was even learning to bake so he could provide sustenance for events and baked goods for fetes. </p><p>Sometimes, on good days, Aziraphale felt that perhaps he was doing as much good work by being involved with the Glastonbury community, as he’d done when he was a priest. It took a different shape, yes, but it was still satisfying, and he was happy to call the town home.</p><p>The dreams still came regularly, and Aziraphale no longer pretended he didn’t want them. There was a relief in entering the dreamworld to find the demon waiting with open arms. </p><p>Some nights he let the demon tempt him, giving in to the raging lust his fiery paramour could so easily instill until he was near screaming with pleasure, completely debauched in the demon’s embrace. Other nights were more tender and slow, and the demon let Aziraphale talk softly to him and treat him gently as they entwined closer and closer, touching each other with care and kindness. No matter what they did, the demon would never let Aziraphale see his face in their most intimate moments, always choosing positions that had one of them facing away from the other.</p><p>At some point, Aziraphale supposed, they would have to talk about what the future held. But finding the courage to start? That was another matter entirely.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading and commenting so far - it means a lot ❤️</p><p>
  <b>Behind the scenes notes</b>
</p><p>Lordy did I ever fall down a research rabbit hole trying to figure out exactly how laicization works. This is accurate enough, I think.</p><p>I almost liked Gabriel for a split second, which was quite frankly more jarring than the rest of the fic put together, lol.</p><p>When I sat down to write this chapter, I had no idea what was going to happen in it. I expected the demon to make an appearance, but not as early as he did. I had talked with Roo about the idea of Aziraphale almost tempting the demon this time, but I was fuzzy on the details until my brain went "aha! Gentleness and kindness would be his temptation!"</p><p>Glastonbury is a weird and wonderful town - these days the high street is all New Age shops, and literally anything goes there. Back in the 1950s it wasn't quite a new age mecca, but it was very popular with spiritual seekers of all paths (including Christianity - the holy thorn there is supposed to have sprung from the staff of Joseph of Arimathea.) The Chalice Well, which is just along the street from Aziraphale's new home, is said to be the place where Joseph of Arimathea hid the holy grail. These days, relationships between the church and the more Pagan denizens of the town are very positive - I'm not sure if that was true in the 1950s but I'd like to think it was, or at least, I wanted Aziraphale to have the experience of an open and welcoming community.</p><p>NGL folks, I cried editing this chapter to post it. Aziraphale feeling so far beyond help at the beginning got me right in the heart, and then his compassionate, gentle response to the demon ... RIP me, I've been slayed by my own fic. Just as Roo talked of the art coming out amazingly fast, so I found myself writing at high speed, and often taken by surprise by what came out. Dark Crowley really does have an effect on readers and viewers of art, doesn't he? Including the person writing him!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Penance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Aziraphale asks some questions he's been trying to avoid, and learns more details of how and why Crowley possessed him. The truth hurts, in more ways than one.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>No specific CW but I'll warn you, this one is not an easy read.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Six months later</strong>
</p><p>Aziraphale woke to the quiet of a Glastonbury dawn, his chest heaving and sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. He wriggled his hips a little, biting his lip at the feel of the wetness between his legs. He no longer felt fear, and only felt a faint ghost of shame, for waking thus now and again. </p><p>But it wasn’t enough. He wanted to hold the demon, to look at his face, to call him by a proper name. The slow craving inside him was a long, unquenchable thirst.</p><p>He knew they could not ever be a couple openly, even if the demon could pass as a human somehow.  It was still illegal to be gay. But if he could just see the demon in the waking world, to have more than snatched moments of passion and snippets of disembodied conversation …</p><p>When Aziraphle got home that afternoon from a day of gardening, tired but content, he knew the time had come. Making tea, he sat down in his favourite reading nook, and picked up the paper. He needed a little time to relax first, to prepare for what he felt likely to be a fraught conversation, and some time with the crossword should do it. And he did need to look a few things up in his gardening books.</p><p>After a calm hour, he felt ready to address the issue. He looked up into the empty room and said, “Are you there?” </p><p>“I’m always here.”</p><p>“Look, I’ve been thinking. If we’re going to keep doing … whatever it is that we’re doing … I must have a name I can call you. And for goodness' sake you must surely have a way of being a bit more corporeal?”</p><p>There was a sigh, like the rustling of an ill-tempered black curtain. Then Aziraphale felt a familiar hand on his.</p><p>“I never needed a name.”</p><p>“You must have had one as an angel.”</p><p>There was an angry hiss. “I’m not telling you my angelic name.”</p><p>“No? Well, what do the other demons call you then?”</p><p>“‘Serpent’, mostly. I was the Serpent of Eden, after all. I’m just .. temptation in its purest form. Don’t need a name.”</p><p>Aziraphale folded up his newspaper and put down the pencil he’d been using to fill out the crossword. </p><p>“It has been six months. I cannot just keep calling you ‘demon’.”</p><p>“Or ‘fiend.’”</p><p>“Well, you are a fiend.” Aziraphale could hear a hint of fondness in his voice, and it felt a little warmer and a little less frightening than it would have done a few months ago.</p><p>There was a long silence.</p><p>“Crowley.” The demon said at last. “You can call me Crowley.”</p><p>"Lovely. Why Crowley?"</p><p>"Because I said so."</p><p>“Very well then. Crowley it is.”</p><p>There was a long silence, during which Aziraphale fetched the gardening book he needed, and started reading. He’d been successful in securing regular gardening work, and was thankful for all the time he’d put into learning gardening during Dig for Victory. He’d always felt closest to God in nature anyway, so it seemed fitting.</p><p>Not that he and God were exactly on speaking terms. Aziraphale had no idea how he felt about God these days, and the topic was a sufficiently sore one that he tended to avoid it. Even to himself. </p><p>“I … I can’t be more corporeal.”</p><p>Crowley said, jolting him out of his reverie. “It hurts you, you see. I didn’t care at first, but I started caring, and I could never … I could never, angel.”</p><p>“Hurts me how, exactly?”</p><p>There was a sudden howl of wind down the chimney, and several books flew off the shelves.</p><p>“Really, dear boy,” Aziraphale muttered. </p><p>“Sorry.” Crowley sounded mostly contrite, though there was a bit of amusement in his voice too.</p><p>“Tell me.”</p><p>There was a deep sigh, then Crowley began speaking. “Demons get their energy from the people they possess. We draw it into ourselves. The more the … victim … believes in us, the stronger we become. Your belief in me is what made me strong enough to appear in the mirror, and even in your living room.”</p><p>Aziraphale carefully placed a bookmark in his book, and put it down. “I have a feeling I won’t like what’s coming next.”</p><p>“No … no, most likely not. Every time you truly believed in me, you gave away part of your soul. It was … at the time, it was a clever set up. A way to consume part of your soul before you died. A way to corrupt you on the deepest level.”</p><p>“Well, I can’t fault your honesty,” Aziraphale said, but his hands were shaking. “I’m so angry.” He added.</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“I know you were only doing what it was in your nature to do.”</p><p>“Yeah, but..."</p><p>The demon trailed off. Who could blame him? What could one really say to that? Aziraphale sighed. “Just let me see you, Crowley. I’m damned anyway.”</p><p>“I can’t. Don’t you understand? I just can’t. I can’t take anything else from you. I can’t damage you any further.”</p><p>“Then what do you propose we do?”</p><p>“I don’t know.”</p><p>“I should retire early. I have several bookings tomorrow. Bove Town, and then up on Wearyall Hill.”</p><p>“Goodnight,” the demon - Crowley - said quietly. </p><p>Aziraphale chewed his lip. He was probably going to regret this. “Come here.” He reached a hand out in the direction of Crowley’s voice. “You don’t have to show yourself. Just come close enough for me to touch you.”</p><p>There was a rustle of feathers, then he felt the slightest weight in his lap, and long fingers curled over his shoulder.</p><p>“Whatcha doing, Aziraphale?”</p><p>“You sounded so blasted lonely, Crowley. I couldn’t bear it.”</p><p>“I am lonely,” the demon said simply. “And I'm tired of hurting people, Aziraphale. The consequences if I did not - it hardly bears thinking about - but I am tired."</p><p>Aziraphale gently clasped the hand that rested on his shoulder. It was cold as ice, which was concerning. Crowley was normally warm.</p><p>“Why did you stay with me after my laicization? I want the whole truth, Crowley."</p><p>"You fascinated me. I hated humanity and didn’t care much what I did to them, but somehow in spite of that you … you gave me hope. The thought of not seeing you again, maybe even finding a way to help you after all I had done to you, was unbearable."</p><p>"And your possession of Sarah - a coincidence?"</p><p>Azitaphale had been avoiding that specific question. Of course it was a coincidence, he'd told himself repeatedly, but still the question beat at the inside of his skull, like a sick premonition.</p><p>"Not exactly."</p><p>"Crowley ..."</p><p>"Oh alright." The demon muttered. "I heard of you because you exorcised one of my brethren. Dagon. That time in Italy when the demon spat nails into your mouth. That was her. I laughed at her for being bested, so she challenged me to do better.”</p><p>“So I was a … a bet?”</p><p>“Yep.”</p><p>Aziraphale quickly pushed Crowley from his lap and stood up. “I need to go to bed. I can’t …”</p><p>“How is that worse?” Crowley sounded genuinely confused. “What difference does it make if I came to tempt you on a bet, than if I was simply wandering and thought  the girl an ideal victim?”</p><p>“You chose that poor girl because you knew I’d be the one to come and exorcise her?” Aziraphale said, even more horrified.</p><p>“Yes,” he admitted. “But I didn’t really hurt her.”</p><p>Aziraphale was shaking so hard his teeth were chattering.</p><p>“I’ve been such a fool,” he said, partly to Crowley and partly to himself. “I thought I saw something in you, a loneliness, a pain that I … I wanted to help with. We are both so alone now. But it was deliberate. All of it, everything you did to me, was entirely personal and crafted to cause me the most pain possible.”</p><p>“At first!” Crowley’s voice broke as if he was crying. “The dream wasn’t … none of the dreams were… they are real. I wanted to make you feel good. I wanted to be close to you.”</p><p>“So you could siphon off more of my soul?”</p><p>“No!”</p><p>Aziraphale shook his head and turned towards the narrow stairs up to the tiny bedroom.</p><p>“You gave me hope,” Crowley pleaded, sounding like his heart was being bludgeoned. “It terrified me and I wanted to hate you for it, but you did. You were good and gentle and you cared so deeply for your parishioners. You cared far more about whether you would let them down, than about how frightened you were of me. You cared far more for them than for your purity.”</p><p>“I was doing my duty.”</p><p>“So you say, but I had never seen a holy man who was actually holy before. And yes, yes, you were a challenge, there was a lot to gain by corrupting a man like you. But the first dream was .. it was just me wanting to be close to you. To be allowed to touch your holiness for a moment. To ... to loose you from your self-imposed prison, to let you see that you could be free, that you could be free with me.”</p><p>Aziraphale felt his heart strings pulled tighter than any bow. Crowley meant it. No one could have heard that distraught voice and doubted the truth of what it said. He turned, gesturing in frustration at the empty air.</p><p>“What are we even doing, Crowley? We are a human, and a demon. We can’t … can’t have any kind of congress. Not because of God. I am quite certain I am already damned, and some days I hardly know how to go on, knowing what awaits me. But I cannot even see you, I cannot usually touch you outside of my dreams … and all I was to you was a bet, really.”</p><p>“Was.” Crowley’s voice sounded utterly broken. “Was, Aziraphale. You’re not a bet to me now.”</p><p>“What am I then?”</p><p>Silence.</p><p>“And what happens when I die? Are you going to keep me from eternal torment? Or go elsewhere, so you don’t have to see the consequences of your actions?”</p><p>“No!” It was harsh. “I’m going to try and keep you safe, aren’t I? I’m always going to try and keep you safe.” Several lightbulbs in the house blew as Crowley grew more emotional. “I’m going to try and make this right. I won't let Hell have you!”</p><p>“I doubt you can stop them.”</p><p>“Then why keep me around? Laicization doesn’t remove your power, only your right to use it. So exorcise me. I’ll let you.”</p><p>“I .. I can’t.”</p><p>“Why not?” There was a crash from upstairs, as if Crowley’s energy was going haywire and lashing out all over the house.</p><p>“Because I can't let you go!” Aziraphale shouted back. “You wanted to know if the first dream meant anything? It meant everything! I’ve never felt anything like that, and I don’t understand how such depths of pleasure can be wrong. You made it safe for me to feel, and I still don’t know if I am glad or if I regret everything. But I cannot bear the thought of being without you.”</p><p>“I can’t become corporeal without taking more of your soul!”</p><p>There was a heated, tense silence. Aziraphale was breathing hard, his rage and confusion and above all longing, coursing through his veins like fire. </p><p>“And I can’t lose any more of it than I already have!”</p><p>“Then there’s no way forward!” Crowley snapped, and Aziraphale felt the surge of despair seconds before the fire blazed so high he saw it from the hall, the living room becoming a furnace.</p><p>“Crowley, no …!”</p><p>The fire moved so fast that his vision turned blazing hot and the flames roared in his ears before he could try to run. The last thing he heard was Crowley calling his name in desperate panic.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for coming along on this journey, and for your lovely comments. I appreciate you all ♥</p><p> </p><p>  <b>Behind the scenes notes</b></p><p> </p><p>I know some of you have been wondering why he chose the name Crowley. I'm sorry. I inserted the part with Azi asking directly this very morning to try and get an answer, but Dark Crowley is a wilful one, and he didn't want to give it. </p><p>If he ever tells me you all will be the first to know ;-)</p><p>This was a hard one to write. I knew they had to face the reality of their situation eventually, and I knew Aziraphale deserved the whole truth, but giving it to him was hard. Roo and I hatched the idea that Aziraphale's belief in Crowley was letting Crowley steal his soul quite early in the brainstorming process, so we both knew Aziraphale had to learn that eventually.</p><p>We also agreed early that if there was going to be a fire (in keeping with canon), Crowley had to be the one to cause it, to show how deeply connected they had become, that even without a corporeal form, Crowley's feelings could be strong enough to affect Aziraphale's reality. At first it was going to be another demon causing it, to hurt Crowley by hurting what he cared for, but making Crowley the cause had even more emotional resonance.</p><p>Tune in Friday to find out what happens next - and for more beautiful art.</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Sanctuary</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>There is a price for Aziraphale's life - is Crowley willing to pay it?</p>
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    <p>“Angel! Angel, please! I did everything Hell asked of me, why won’t you wake up?”</p><p>Aziraphale felt strong arms wrapped around him, and the press of a forehead into the side of his neck. Someone was sobbing as if their heart was breaking, and he slowly realised his neck and collar were soaked with tears. When he struggled to sit up, the weight vanished. Easing himself into a sitting position, Aziraphale opened his eyes.</p><p>“Angel! You’re alive, you’re alive, oh thank someone …” Crowley was kneeling in front of him, as solid as Aziraphale's own self, his face streaked with tears. Before Aziraphale could draw breath to speak, Crowley moved closer, his hands feverishly touching Aziraphale’s hair and face as if to check that he was real.</p><p>“B-but...my soul?”</p><p>“I’m not taking your soul,” Crowley said in a rush. “Not hurting you by being here, I’ll explain, I -”</p><p>What the demon was going to say, Aziraphale never knew, because he immediately leaned in and pressed his mouth desperately against Crowley’s, kissing him hard. The demon gave a squeak of surprise, but grabbed Aziraphale and kissed him back, long hands cupping his face. Aziraphale groaned softly, tongue gently exploring Crowley’s mouth and finding he tasted of smoke and iron and something deliciously earthy. He drew back slowly, but kept his hand on Crowley’s face.</p><p>“Hello, darling,” he said softly.</p><p>“Hey.” Crowley looked shaken to his core, his sharp features made sharper still by pain and stress.</p><p>“Oh … come here …” Aziraphale drew Crowley to him, not even bothering to get off the floor, or enquire as to why the fire was gone and not a book was burned.  When the demon came willingly into his arms and nestled his head against Aziraphale’s shoulder, he was baffled. He stroked Crowley’s long red hair tentatively, his other hand still caressing Crowley’s cheek softly. “What happened?”</p><p>“The fire,” Crowley muttered against him. “Caused it with my emotions.”</p><p>“It seems to be alright now.” Aziraphale rocked him gently. His instincts told him the creature in his arms still wasn’t human, but he was human enough to breathe, and to have a heart that thudded against his chest so hard that Aziraphale could feel it through his own clothes. Crowley was certainly human enough to be in pain.</p><p>“I couldn’t … I couldn’t let you die.” Crowley shook violently, choking on the words he was trying to say.</p><p>“Hey ...hey, it’s ok. You’re alright.” Aziraphale stood up, carefully pulling Crowley to his feet. The demon looked down at him, and he seemed so shaken that Aziraphale’s heart ached for him. </p><p>“Come on.”  He led Crowley to the sofa and carefully sat him down, fetching his thickest tartan blanket and bundling it around the trembling demon. Then, he went to the kitchen and made a cup of strong, sweet tea, hoping that it could treat shock in demons just as in humans. </p><p>“Thank you,” Crowley said quietly, accepting the tea and taking a sip. He looked up at Aziraphale, his striking yellow eyes huge and serious. Aziraphale sat down beside him and, after a moment’s hesitation, carefully took his hand.</p><p>“Can you tell me what’s happened here?”</p><p>“I … I …” Crowley stuttered, as if the words burned. As if they were holy. Aziraphale’s breath caught in his chest.</p><p>“I pr - prayed.” Crowley said, as if confessing to the most shameful sin. “When the fire started. I was trapped here - couldn’t get to you, couldn’t get to Hell. And I bloody know He’s still up there and I thought … I thought as you are so good, He might listen.” Tears were trickling down the demon’s face, while Aziraphale sat stunned and unsure what to say to help him. “For a split second it was like I was somewhere outside of time, with you. I could feel your arms around me, your light, like a halo. Would have bloody well given whatever’s left of my soul to get you out of the flames.”</p>
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</div><p>Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand in his, squeezing gently. “What happened next?”</p><p>“Found myself in Hell, and blurted out exactly what I’d been pleading for: The chance to save you at any cost.”  Crowley said, staring down into his cup as if he couldn't bear to look in Aziraphale’s eyes for the next part. “So they told me what they would demand as payment, to let me come back here, reset things, and keep you alive.”</p><p>Aziraphale felt a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach, that didn't know if it wanted to be hope or fear. “And what was the price?”</p><p>Crowley did look at him then, with a wry half-smile. “They gave me humanity. Oh, I’m still a demon. But I have … I have human emotions. I can feel, Aziraphale, I can feel so much. Such guilt,” he whispered, curling in on himself. “The things I did, the pain, the terror I caused … such fragile, tiny lives and I treated them like they were nothing, like they were bugs to crush.”</p><p>“You did what it was in your nature to do. I’m not saying it was right or good, but it was … what you were. And what chance did you have to be otherwise? You said it yourself, demons don’t get choices.”</p><p>Crowley closed his eyes for a long moment.</p><p>“I should have left you alone.”</p><p>“It seems a little late for that.”</p><p>Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s hand. “You sacrificed your entire nature to save me.” He said quietly, tears catching in his throat.</p><p>“Only seemed fair, really.”</p><p>“I think the fairer question is, what do you need, right now? I cannot imagine what you are going through.”</p><p>“Do you want me to go away?” Crowley asked, watching Aziraphale as if determined to hold it together no matter what Aziraphale said next, though he was still shaking violently and holding his cup hard enough that it was a wonder it hadn't broken yet. Aziraphale made to protest, that they could talk about that later when Crowley was less shaken, but suddenly he realised that Crowley didn't care about that. All he cared about was knowing whether Aziraphale planned to send him away. As if would. As if he <em>could</em>.</p><p>“No, I don’t want you to go away. I don’t. I want you to stay with me.”</p><p>Crowley let out a sigh so heavy that Aziraphale thought he seemed to have been holding it for millennia. Aziraphale reached out and rubbed Crowley’s back gently. The demon was supernaturally warm and Aziraphale wanted to snuggle into that warmth and never come back out.</p><p>And really, who was to stop him? He was free. He had been free for some months now, but in his mind he was still tethered to the same rules as before. He had felt such despair after Crowley’s confession that he was taking Aziraphale’s own soul by becoming more corporeal. Their … love, for yes, that’s what it was, he could admit that to himself now … seemed doomed to exist only in the liminal spaces. But now, the impasse was broken and hope was rushing through the cracks like liquid sunlight that warmed his chest and emboldened him.</p><p>“Crowley.” He moved closer to the demon, and let himself run his fingers through that long ruby coloured hair. “It seems to me that we have both been through so much, so terribly much, to reach this point. Perhaps we at least owe it to ourselves, to see what there might be, between us, now we inhabit the same world.”</p><p>“You truly want that, angel?”</p><p>“Would seem utterly ridiculous not to, really.”</p><p>Crowley almost laughed, but his brow furrowed in pain. Aziraphale ran his fingers soothingly through the fine hair at Crowley’s temple.</p><p>“I do, my dear. I do want that.”</p><p>“I believe you.” Crowley gazed at him. “It’s just … so much. My body feels so new and strange, and I have so many damn feelings. Don’t know where to start, really.”</p><p>“Well … where would you like to start? Is there anything I can do for you?”</p><p>Crowley shook his head with a faint smile. </p><p>Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t spend twenty years of my life as a priest without learning a little about reading people. Tell me what you want ... please.”</p><p>Crowley took a deep breath, then sighed and seemed to resign himself to the fact that he wasn’t getting out of this one.</p><p>“I want to hold you. Doesn’t have to be anything intimate. Just … just to be allowed to. In the waking world.”</p><p>Aziraphale ran his hand gently over Crowley’s chest, then fisted his hand in the demon’s black robe and drew him closer, pressing slow kisses over every inch of his face. Crowley gasped, then closed his eyes and leaned into it. </p><p>“You’re beautiful,” Aziraphale told him honestly. “And I want to be close to you, too. In any way you want me.”</p><p>“Even now? When I’m all … emotional?”</p><p>“Of course. Crowley... Before the fire, I didn’t dare think or say that I … that I cared as deeply as I did. Then I awoke in your arms, apparently having nearly died, but for your intercession, and I realised -- finally -- that it’s where I belong. Forgive me for not understanding the truth sooner.”</p><p>“Me forgive you?” Crowley gave a bitter laugh. “Oh, angel.”</p><p>“I forgive you too,” Aziraphale said, very softly. </p><p>Crowley’s eyes opened wide, and he leaned in suddenly to kiss Aziraphale, who let himself drift on the euphoria. When he wrapped his arms around the demon’s shoulders and let his fingers play over the back of his neck, Crowley shuddered.</p><p>“Aziraphale…” It was a low growl. “I am still a demon of lust …”</p><p>“I should hope so. It would seem a pity to go through all of this, only to be quite chaste and polite with one another.”</p><p>Crowley laughed at that, but his limbs were still trembling. </p><p>Aziraphale rubbed his arms gently. “My dear, you must be very overwhelmed. Would you rather do something less intimate? Take a nap?”</p><p>“Less intimate … angel, do you mean … do you want …?”</p><p>Aziraphale thought that if there was ever a moment to be completely truthful with himself, this was it. He screwed up all the courage he had, then reached out and rested his hand on Crowley’s thigh.</p><p>“Yes, Crowley. I want you, if you will have me.”</p><p>Crowley wrapped both arms around him then, holding him so tight as he kissed Aziraphale hard, sucking slowly at his lower lip. When they drew apart, Aziraphale was breathless, and already craving more of the demon’s - his demon’s - kiss. </p><p>“I um … have no experience in the real world,” he admitted.</p><p>“Me neither,” Crowley said. “We can work it out together.”</p><p>Aziraphale ran his thumb across Crowley’s lower lip. “Tell me what you truly want.”</p><p>Crowley looked at him for a long moment, his breath hitching as he clearly struggled with what he wanted to say.</p><p>“I want you." He said simply. "I want to know what it is to hold you and touch you and bring you pleasure in this world."</p><p>"I want that too, sweetheart." Shivering at the thought, Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand and led him to the bedroom. He hesitated before undressing, then laughed. “This is so silly. You’ve already seen everything.”</p><p>“That was different,” Crowley said gently, cupping Aziraphale’s face in his hand. “Being in a dream state isn't the same. This is more vulnerable. And angel … angel, we don’t have to do anything, I swear. I’m not going to try and tempt you.”</p><p>“I trust you.” Aziraphale started undressing as he spoke, and Crowley joined in, tentatively at first, helping Aziraphale out of his clothes. When Aziraphale was finally naked, he turned his attention to Crowley, pulling the demon’s robes over his head until he was naked in the pale light of the candle lanterns in the bedroom, a tall collection of angles and sharp bones and smooth, warm skin that Aziraphale was suddenly longing to touch and taste. Circling his arms around the demon’s waist, he looked up at him in wonder.</p><p>“You’re mine,” he said simply. </p><p>Crowley nodded, looking overcome with emotion as he pulled Aziraphale towards the bed. They slipped beneath the covers, limbs tangling together as they kissed slowly, savouring one another. </p><p>Crowley was so warm and solid in Aziraphale’s arms, and he couldn’t get enough of simply touching him, letting his hands explore the ladder of Crowley’s ribs, the wings of his shoulder blades, his long legs and flat stomach. When he eventually nuzzled into Crowley’s shoulder to press kisses there, he couldn’t help sighing with pleasure at the taste of his skin.</p><p>“Angel ….” Crowley’s hands curved gently over his waist and hips. “I want to make you feel so good, but I don’t know how. Ironic, I know, given my history of tempting …”</p><p>Aziraphale mouthed his way up to Crowley’s jaw, and laid a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth. “Then let us find out together.”</p><p>Crowley responded by lavishing Aziraphale’s body with kisses and caresses, touching each part with infinite gentleness, exploring every secret part of him, from the crooks of his elbows to the crease where his buttocks met the back of his thighs. When Crowley dragged his tongue along the top of his thigh, Aziraphale moaned softly, pleasure flaring in his lower belly.</p><p>“Crowley, I … I want …”</p><p>“Tell me.” The demon moved so they were gazing at each other, arms snaking around Aziraphale again. “Tell me, angel, it's yours …”</p><p>“I want you inside me,” Aziraphale replied frankly. “I want to be joined with you, knowing that you’re mine, and I am yours. For reasons I may never understand, you are my world now. And I want no other.”</p><p>“That’s blasphemy.” </p><p>“I think I am past caring.” Aziraphale licked his palm to slick it, then reached down and gave the demon’s cock a gentle stroke. Crowley was already almost fully hard from their kisses and caresses, and at the touch of Aziraphale’s hand, he gave a low groan. Aziraphale continued stroking and pulling, letting his fingers explore every inch. </p><p>When Crowley moved Aziraphale’s hand away, only to wrap his own hand around both of their lengths, Aziraphale groaned loudly and leaned in to kiss Crowley, letting his hips move slowly and surely into the friction, reveling in the feel of Crowley’s erection against his own. Every movement sent shocks of pleasure through him, until he was gasping and whimpering against Crowley’s mouth. </p><p>“Please,” he said softly, trembling. “Please, before it gets too much. I want to be with you.”</p><p>“Yes, angel, anything.” Crowley slid his hands so carefully down Aziraphale’s sides, as if he was precious, easing him onto his back. Aziraphale reached out and grabbed Crowley’s wrist.</p><p>“I can turn over, I don’t mind. You know that.”</p><p>Crowley looked at him for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was impossibly quiet and vulnerable.</p><p>“I’d quite like for us to see each other this time. If that’s alright with you.”</p><p>Aziraphale reached up to brush his fingers over Crowley’s sharp cheekbone. “Very much so.”</p><p>Crowley took a shaky breath at that. He reached for a pillow, then placed it under Aziraphale’s hips. Azriaphale felt himself flushing, the simple act of being thus positioned ready for Crowley, setting him alight with ardour. Leaning over to his nightstand, he rummaged in the drawer and found a small tub of KY Jelly, which he handed to Crowley with a sheepish smile.</p><p>“Prepared, I see.” Crowley grinned, but his voice and touch were impossibly gentle as he ran a hand down Aziraphale’s thigh, then eased it back. Aziraphale obligingly hooked his hands behind his knees and pulled his own legs back, arching and shivering under the loving weight of Crowley’s gaze. Crowley’s expression was a study in avidity as he eased his finger just inside Aziraphale, who gasped sharply at the intrusion. </p><p>“You’re so lovely." Crowely told him as he pressed deeper, stroking carefully. "You’re going to feel so good around my cock.”</p><p>Aziraphale keened softly at the thought, hips pressing into Crowley’s touch as the demon worked slowly and methodically, opening Aziraphale’s body ready for him. Every so often he paused to nuzzle Aziraphale’s belly and inner thighs, or to press kisses over his lower stomach and shaft, until Aziraphale was tossing his head on the pillow and gasping helplessly. </p><p>Then Crowley drew his fingers back, and moved to position the head of his cock at Aziraphale’s entrance, and Aziraphale thought he might die right then if he didn’t feel Crowley inside him. </p><p>“Yes,” Aziraphale said, gazing up at him. “Yes, now.”</p><p>Crowley shuddered and closed his eyes tight for a moment, panting, and the sight was so erotic, Aziraphale worried he might lose control right then. Crowley opened his eyes again, fixing his gaze on Azirphale’s as he carefully eased himself inside, just enough. Aziraphale cried out sharply, reaching for Crowley and grabbing his shoulders.</p><p>“Oh you feel … oh!! Don’t stop, please, more, I want all of you, please Crowley …”</p><p>“I’m yours … it’s alright angel, I’m all yours …” Thus saying, Crowley pushed forward, so careful, then back, rocking his hips gently and easing more of his cock inside Aziraphale, who thought he might cry with pleasure. </p><p>“Tell me .. tell me if it hurts,” Crowley said, breathing hard.</p><p>“It burns a little, but I .. I like it. Don’t stop.” </p><p>Crowley nodded as if he could be ok with that, so long as Aziraphale liked it, pushing harder. Aziraphale groaned deep in his chest at the feel of his body stretching to accommodate Crowley. The demon’s cock felt so hot and hard, and every brush was setting Aziraphale’s nerve endings alight, until he was a mess of pleasure and want, legs writhing as he moaned through every nudge deeper inside him. </p><p>When Crowley was seated completely inside Aziraphale, he leaned down to kiss him softly. Aziraphale felt tears running down his own face, even as he noticed Crowley’s face was wet with tears as well.</p><p>“I’m home.” Crowley whispered in surprise. “I belong with you.”</p><p>“You do.” Aziraphale groaned and pushed his hips down, just for the feel of Crowley’s hardness against his most intimate parts. “We belong with each other.” </p><p>Crowley smiled at him then, the first genuine smile Aziraphale had seen on the demon’s face, and it was so lovely that he trembled at the sight of it, reaching for Crowley and holding him tight. He couldn’t stay still, as if his whole being needed to flow into and around Crowley as much as possible. It felt like he had wings, as if he truly were the angel Crowley thought him, and was in danger of flying away from sheer pleasure. The only way to ground himself was to kiss and touch Crowley in as many places as he could. Crowley moaned softly at every press of Aziraphale’s lips and hands to his naked skin, and his eyes never left Aziraphale’s face as he rocked his hips slowly. </p><p>When Crowley pushed Aziraphale’s legs further back so he could get deeper, Aziraphale cried the demon’s name, which earned him another of those brilliant smiles. Then he pulled Crowley down so they could kiss, and though the angle was a little awkward, Crowley was flexible enough to keep kissing Aziraphale, hips grinding insistently at the same time. </p><p>“You feel so good,” Aziraphale told him, tucking that beautiful red hair behind the demon’s ear. “I am so glad you found me.”</p><p>“You’re perfect,” Crowley said breathlessly. “Let me … angel … “ He closed his eyes on a groan, trailing off and burying his face against Aziraphale’s chest, before looking up and trying again. “Let me love you.”</p><p>Aziraphale tilted his head back on a gasp as Crowley dragged over the most sensitive places inside him, stroking the demon’s hair gently. “You already are.”</p><p>Crowley moaned shakily in response, holding Aziraphale tight as he moved faster, growling softly with every thrust. Aziraphale couldn’t stop touching the demon, his hands greedy to explore every last inch of Crowley’s beautiful lean body. When he let his fingers slide down Crowley’s stomach to gently explore where they were joined, Crowley made a heated, desperate sound, sinking his nails into Aziraphale’s hip and thrusting possessively against him. </p><p>“Tell me how to make this perfect for you,” he gasped out as he tongued Aziraphale's nipples, grazed sharp teeth against his collarbone.</p><p>“You already are.” Aziraphale could hardly speak, his words trailing off into low groans and helpless gasps. “Crowley … please, please come inside me, let me feel you.”</p><p>“Angel …” Crowley kissed him again then, messy and open, one hand cupping Azirahale’s face tenderly and the other grasping his hip, as Crowley shuddered, bucking deep into Aziraphale with every pulse as he came hard. The intimacy of it, and the hot wetness of Crowley losing control inside him, pushed Aziraphale close to the edge. When he reached down to touch himself, Crowley grasped his wrist.</p><p>“Let me.”</p><p>Aziraphale nodded, and Crowley wrapped his fingers around Aziraphale’s shaft, which was so swollen and sensitive that it took only a few strokes before he was coming all over Crowley’s hand and moaning his name.</p><p>When they could bear to disentangle from each other, Crowley insisted on running a bath so they could relax into the warm water together, cleaning each other with soft cloths and kisses. Clean, dry, and both very tired and overwhelmed, they shared a cup of tea and a few rounds of toast, before curling up together in Aziraphale’s bed.</p><p>“Angel?”</p><p>“Yes, Crowley?”</p><p>“You didn’t ask if I would still be tempting people. I don’t have to - Hell reckons gaining human emotions is punishment enough. But when I told you about what happened in Hell, you didn’t even ask if I was off the hook.”</p><p>“Well … I have fallen in love with you knowing about your nature. So I suppose I assumed that if you still had to do that, we would find a way to cope.”</p><p>Crowley didn’t answer, but buried his face in Aziraphale’s hair for a moment. “What are we going to do now?”</p><p>Aziraphale gazed at the demon, at his earnest expression and beautiful wide-open golden eyes, and felt his lips curve into a smile.</p><p>“I don’t know, darling. But I think so long as we do it together, we’ll be alright.”</p><p>Crowley smiled back, then wrapped his arms protectively around Aziraphale and cuddled trustingly into him. As Aziraphale lay there, sleep refusing to come to him, he thought that if he was still the praying sort, he would give all kinds of thanks for the man in his arms. God probably wouldn’t like that, though, and if He didn’t approve of their love, then Aziraphale wanted nothing more to do with Him. He’d found his heart’s home, and from that moment on, he belonged to himself, and to Crowley, and no other.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading and commenting. I've loved sharing this journey with you.</p><p>Tune in tomorrow (I'm not going to make you, or myself, wait till Monday this time) for the epilogue, and one last stunning piece of art.</p><p>  <b>Behind the scenes notes</b></p><p> </p><p>This chapter owes so much to Roo's art and ideas! She'd already shared her vision of Crowley gaining humanity somehow, which planted the seed for the deal he makes with Hell. In the original draft of this chapter, he simply tells Aziraphale that he made a deal with Hell and that he has humanity, and that was it.</p><p>Then Roo sprung that amazing sketch on me, and it was like someone switched on a light. Finally (after only nine chapters mind you) I felt like I was really seeing Dark Crowley, not the version he wanted the world to see, but the vulnerable, emotional parts of him that we glimpsed a little in the second dream sequence. I felt like I could really see the desperate levels of love he had for Aziraphale.</p><p>(I can also see why Aziraphale was tempted by him!)</p><p>Knowing his feelings about God, at first I was like "Is he .... who is he ...?", and when Roo confirmed that yes, he actually <i>prayed</i> for Aziraphale's life, I knew I couldn't leave that unwritten. So Dark Crowley, that wily and recalcitrant demon, let me write the praying sequence.</p><p>I'd also like to shout out my amazing beta, Mira, who a) frequently surprised me with new lines for Dark Crowley when he was being stubborn with me (this one makes you work for the story!), and b) gave Aziraphale the line "B - but my soul?", which made me cry as I was editing it.</p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Apotheosis</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Finally clear of both Hell and the demands of priesthood, Crowley and Aziraphale are free to build the life they desire. But can anything truly last forever?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And so we come at last to the end of Aziraphale and Dark Crowley's story. </p><p>CW: I would say mind the tags. I'll put a spoiler in the end notes in case you'd rather know more details.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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  <strong>California, 2020</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>“Do you, Crowley, take Aziraphale as your husband? Do you promise to cherish him, protect him, honour him, and share your life with him?”</p><p>Crowley was clearly struggling to hold back tears, which Aziraphale completely understood, given that tears were currently pouring down his own face.</p><p>“I do,” he managed to say at last, and Aziraphale could feel the demon’s hands trembling as he lifted Aziraphale’s hand and slid a simple gold and sapphire band onto his finger. <em>“Gold for my eyes, and blue for yours,”</em> he’d explained when gave it to Aziraphale three months ago.</p><p>Newton Pulsifer the third smiled at them both, looking rather close to tears himself, as he presided over their ceremony on the beach, beside the lovely home he shared with his wife, Anathema. Aziraphale’s dear friend Newton had left the priesthood a year after Aziraphale, and found his joy in starting an independent and inclusive church that was not much liked by traditionalists, but which provided a much needed spiritual home for outliers and outcasts who wanted to continue with the church, without the judgement. <em>“The kinds of people Jesus liked to run with”</em>, Newt had pointed out, and Aziraphale had to agree with him.</p><p>“And do you, Aziraphale, take Crowley as your husband? Do you promise to cherish him, protect him, honour him, and share your life with him?”</p><p>Aziraphale cried harder at the words, and laughed as well. He could never have imagined such a beautiful celebration of their love, given where it had all begun.</p><p>“I do. Of course I do!” He slipped a matching gold and sapphire ring onto Crowley’s finger, surging up to kiss his new husband passionately before Newton had the chance to pronounce them married. </p><p></p><div class="center">
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</div><p>Newton laughed for joy too, as he gently teased "Steady on, we're not even done yet. I now pronounce you married!"</p><p>Crowley smiled at Aziraphale then, as if he still couldn't quite believe this was happening. As the small group of friends and loved ones they'd collected over the years cheered and cast rose petals on the sand, Crowley offered his arm to Aziraphale, leading them down the aisle that was marked out with candle lanterns, and further onto the beach, where the reception was to be held. </p><p>Aziraphale was so happy that he could hardly bear it. Crowley couldn’t seem to stop smiling at him, and oh he looked so handsome in his deep red suit, his long hair woven into an intricate braid, accented with glimmering black jewels. Even after sixty-five years, he still wasn’t used to Crowley’s beauty. </p><p>He still wasn’t used to Crowley. He never would be. But they both knew the time was coming when they would have to part. Aziraphale carefully closed the lid on that thought, determined to be in the moment, and only in the moment. Crowley had seen his faraway look, though, and leaned down to nuzzle his cheek softly. “You ok, angel?”</p><p>Aziraphale nodded quickly, turning to kiss Crowley softly. “Never better, my love.”</p><p>Crowley smiled adoringly, then took Aziraphale’s hand again and tucked it into the crook of his elbow so he could support him as they walked onto the beach. There were trestle tables bedecked in cream and gold with red accents, groaning under the weight of a feast of seafood and fresh bread, dips and sides, such as Aziraphale had never dreamed. A three-tier cake with white icing, simply decorated with striking black feathers and red and gold stars, waited to be cut. </p><p>By the time they’d sampled the food and cake, evening was falling over the assembled crowd.</p><p>“How do you feel, Mr and Mr Fell?” Newton asked them, clasping each of their hands. </p><p>His grandfather, Aziraphale’s best friend, had shared the truth of Aziraphale and Crowley’s story with his son, before passing away aged 86 after a long and happy life. Aziraphale had held his hand to the end and, for the first time in decades, had prayed, asking God to grant Newt an easy transition. If anyone deserved Heaven, it was the kind, wise priest who had loved Aziraphale and Crowley as if they were his own family. </p><p>Newt’s son had passed their story to his own son when the time came. They were ostensibly the only people in the world who knew the truth of what Crowley was, though Aziraphale suspected that Anathema knew and was too polite to say. They were also the only people to know that Crowley’s demonic energy had been able to keep Aziraphale looking as he did at 45 years old, even extending his life for a few extra decades.</p><p>“So happy that I scarcely know how to express it.” Aziraphale told him honestly, noticing the way his words made Crowley’s eyes light up.</p><p>“You make a beautiful couple. I’m so happy for you.” Newt kissed each of them on the cheek, squeezing Aziraphale’s hand for a long time, before heading back to Anathema. </p><p>“Shall we?”</p><p>Crowley offered his hand to Aziraphale, who nodded and walked with his husband to the edge of the water, where the sun was sinking towards the horizon and setting the sky ablaze with vivid orange and pink. While Crowley, Newt, and Anathema had been barefoot for the wedding, Aziraphale had preferred to wear shoes. After all, it was his wedding, and he had standards. But suddenly he was desperate to feel the sand between his toes just once more, so he took off his shoes and left them in the sand. They sat down together, with their feet in the still-warm water, and Crowley’s wing, invisible to everyone else, tucked around Aziraphale for warmth.</p><p>Neither of them needed to speak. Aziraphale was ready to leave, and they both knew it. Sometime in the early 1960s, when they’d realised the effect Crowley’s energy was having on Aziraphale, he’d told his demon that he was determined to live until they could legally marry.</p><p>“Not in a religious ceremony,” he’d added. “I would never ask that of you. But something … legal. I just want to be in the world, legally bound to you, and proud of that.”</p><p>“We can’t have the church’s blessing and we don’t want God’s, but we can embrace humanity’s?” Crowley had replied, and Aziraphale had agreed that yes, that was exactly it.</p><p>Aziraphale’s lack of physical aging meant they had to move multiple times, and so they adventured around the globe-- Italy, Scotland, France, Romania, Greece, Morocco. Occasionally they would cross paths with someone who was clearly struggling with demonic influence. On those occasions, Aziraphale would use his skills as an ex priest, and Crowley would use his knowledge of Hell, to free them.. </p><p>When civil ceremonies became legal for same sex couples, they kept traveling, kept enjoying each day with each other, and savoring each other through each long, passionate night.  And somehow, they didn’t quite get around to having a ceremony. </p><p>In recent years they’d moved less frequently, as Aziraphale felt more and more tired. Seeing friends, old and new, grow old and die, added to his exhaustion. Settling near Newton in California had meant they could live a quiet semi-retired life, with his and Anathema’s support.</p><p>But at 110 years old, Aziraphale knew he couldn’t keep going for much longer, and told Crowley so. </p><p>“We should arrange that ceremony we keep talking of,” he told the demon softly between kisses one night as they lay in bed, listening to the waves outside. “Just to be sure we fit it in before I … I …”</p><p>He didn’t need to say it. Crowley nodded, gathering him into his arms and burying his face in Aziraphale’s hair.</p><p>“Anything, angel. Anything you want.”</p><p>It was growing colder now the sun had set, and Aziraphale was shivering.</p><p>“Home?” Crowley asked with that quirk of an eyebrow that always made Aziraphale smile.</p><p>“Yes, my dear. That sounds good.”</p><p>Crowley stood first, then gently pulled Aziraphale to his feet. As soon as Aziraphale was standing, Crowley gathered him close and lifted his new husband into his arms.</p><p>“Crowley, you don’t need to -”</p><p>“You’re so tired, angel. Let me. Besides, it’s tradition to carry one’s spouse across the threshold.”</p><p>And so Crowley carried him back to their beachside home, tenderly sitting Aziraphale on the edge of the bed so Crowley could carefully remove his coat, waistcoat and shirt, peppering each newly-uncovered patch of skin with tender kisses. Then he removed Aziraphale's dress pants and shoes, gently moving him so he was lying naked atop the covers. Aziraphale closed his eyes in bliss and sadness, the poignancy of the moment nearly overwhelming him as Crowley so softly kissed and touched every inch of his body, as if he could press his love into Aziraphale's skin so they would never be parted. He opened his wings, blanketing Aziraphale in them and keeping him warm. When Aziraphale started drifting a little, nearly falling asleep, he reached out and stroked Crowley's hair, fingers tangling in the intricately arranged strands.</p><p>"Help me into bed, my love?"</p><p>Crowley did so, then removed his own clothes and let loose his long red hair before climbing in beside Aziraphale, snuggling into the covers until they were facing one another, the tips of their noses brushing. For a long moment they lay in silence, smiling at one another in wonder, drying each other's tears with fingertips and long kisses.</p><p>"You're my husband." Crowley sounded like he could scarcely believe it.<br/><br/>"I am."<br/><br/>"Worth the wait?" Crowley teased, though there was something fragile in it.</p><p>"Would have been worth a thousand times the wait." Aziraphale reassured him, and to his delight Crowley really did laugh that time, the sounding warming Aziraphale's chest and making him smile at his demon with impossible fondness.They lapsed into silence then, communicating through lingering kisses and caresses that felt to Aziraphale like they were soothing every last cell of his body and every last inch of his soul.</p><p>“Aziraphale?” Crowley said at last, his amber eyes searching Aziraphale's face as if he held all the answers Crowley would ever need.</p><p>“Yes, my love?”</p><p>“After you … after this is over … I’m going to look for you.”</p><p>Aziraphale leaned over and kissed Crowley softly, longing to get as many kisses in as possible. “I know. And I hope you find me.”</p><p>“I don’t … I don’t know what will happen to you.”</p><p>“I know, darling. But I am at peace with God. These modern times, these more progressive believers, have shown me different ways to approach the divine. I would like to think they are right, and there is a kinder God out there than the one we both knew. Sometimes I even think that God’s silence, the way I struggled to hear him when I was a priest, was an act of kindness. Trying to show me that it wasn’t my destiny, or where I belonged.”</p><p>Crowley nodded, his eyes solemn.</p><p>“Crowley .. my love … no matter what happens, I wouldn’t have changed one moment of this.”</p><p>“I believe you,” Crowley said quietly, drawing Aziraphale closer into his arms and rubbing his back soothingly with a wing.</p><p>Aziraphale gave him an encouraging smile, wishing he could somehow transmit all the love he felt, the wonder and joy of sharing such a long life with his demon. Crowley cupped Aziraphale’s face, his hands warm and gentle as he leaned in for a long kiss, tongue exploring inside Aziraphale’s mouth as if it was their first kiss, fingers sliding into his hair. Crowley always poured his whole self into every kiss, and it left Aziraphale breathless.</p><p>When they drew apart, both their faces were wet with fresh tears.</p><p>“This is the happiest moment of my life,” Aziraphale whispered. </p><p>“Mine too.” Crowley nuzzled his cheek, stroking his face, kissing it, as if he would memorise every last detail.</p><p>“My love.” Aziraphale caught Crowley’s hands in his and kissed each of them. “I am so very, very tired.”</p><p>“I know. You’ve held on for so long, for me.”</p><p>Aziraphale nodded, drinking in every beautiful, familiar detail of Crowley’s face until his eyes involuntarily drifted shut. He could feel Crowley’s hands on him, treasuring him.</p><p>“It’s alright. You can sleep now.”</p><p>Aziraphale nestled into Crowley, wrapping his arms around him and resting his head on Crowley’s chest so he could hear his heartbeat. As Crowley kept gently caressing his face and body, he felt himself growing lighter and warmer, as if he was becoming more diffuse, as if he was drifting away like dandelion seeds on a summer breeze. It felt like unspooling, becoming closer to Crowley than he’d ever been, until all he knew was Crowley’s love encircling every part of his being. As he slipped away into the warmth and light, the last thing he heard was Crowley’s voice.</p><p>“Goodnight, angel.”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
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  <b>Content Warning / (big) spoiler</b>
</p><p>Crowley and Aziraphale are able to be together and enjoy their life; but Aziraphale is still human and has to die eventually.</p><p>
  <b> A few words from Roo:</b>
</p><p>I just wanted to let it be known that working on this fic with Allie has been a real treat. They crafted a really thoughtful story from the art I basically just yeeted at them with no context. Allie took these pieces and was able to put them together in a coherent way, all the while coaxing me to describe my intent behind the art while drawing their own conclusions and making it richer. Sometimes it felt like the right art came at the right time to inspire Allie and give them a deeper view into a world that was only half formed in my own mind (like the supportive hug of the protector in chapter 9) and was able to translate it for me into actual words.</p><p>The wedding picture here was completely inspired by reading the 1st draft of the epilogue and the emotions it gave me, and is the only piece in color because it’s now the modern era, as well as a representation of the colorful and happy life they’ve made for themselves. </p><p>This story really means the word to me, so thank you Allie for working on it with me, bringing it to life and making it more than the sum of its parts. </p><p>And Thank You All for reading and commenting and leaving kudos. I read and treasured every one.  </p><p>
  <b>A note from Allie</b>
</p><p>Well ... hasn't this been a trip? I loved every moment of writing this and especially getting to write scenes that added story to Roo's stunning art. I honestly didn't guess this would touch people so deeply, and I feel humbled and a bit stunned, and very grateful to everyone who read it, and to everyone who was kind enough to share their thoughts along the way. It meant a lot ♥</p><p>Thank you to Roo for letting me get my enthusiastic writerly fingers on your stunning art and helping me build a story around it. And to Mira for brilliant beta work. </p><p>
  <b>Behind the scenes notes</b>
</p><p>At some point, in the feverish final days of writing Apotheosis (26K in less that two weeks, dear readers!) the idea came up that Aziraphale would want to live long enough to marry Crowley. The last bit is a blur so I truly can't recall if it was myself, Roo, or Mira who hatched that one! But I know that I caught onto it, and started researching the dates gay marriage was legalized in different places. And then I thought maybe he'd want to experience more of life with Crowley, and he deserved that, and so the idea came that they would have a long life adventuring together first. Somehow I knew that once he got to marry Crowley, Azi would feel his life was complete and he was ready to let go. I think Crowley and I were both trying to delay that.</p><p>My plan was to write this as an ambiguous ending where he might have died, or might have fallen asleep. I had no idea it was going to be such a concrete goodbye scene until I was writing it - and I have never cried so hard writing anything. At one point Roo had to talk me off the ledge because I nearly tried to find a way to let him live, even though I knew this was the ending the story wanted. Mira informed me that beta-ing it made her cry so much that her keyboard malfunctioned and she had to clean it to get it to work again.</p><p>OK, one last word about the art:</p><p>WOW. </p><p>I was blown away by this beautiful picture. I adore Newt, and I love how Roo drew him. The stunning colours fed into the descriptions in the chapter, and when Roo pointed out that she gave Aziraphale shoes while the others were barefoot (because it's his wedding and he has standards), I knew I had to write that in.</p><p>So, lovely readers ... a sequel where Dark Crowley searches for Aziraphale? What do we think?</p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Bonus Art!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A beautiful extra piece of art from Roo!</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The lovely Miss Edith Cushing mentioned in one of her comments that it would be nice to see a bit more of their faces at the wedding. Roo created this beautiful thing in response and honestly? I can't look at it without crying a little bit because they're so in love and so happy even though it's Aziraphale's last night on earth *goes to lie down*.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This seems like a good place to mention that I listened to <a href="https://youtu.be/CNdwaHaBF3c">Run</a> by Josh Groban and Sarah McLachlan on repeat while writing the epilogue. This lyric in particular just got me:</p><p> </p><p>  <i>To think I might not see those eyes<br/>Makes it so hard not to cry<br/>And as we say our long goodbyes<br/>I nearly do</i></p><p> </p><p>If you're curious, I have a playlist of all the things I listened to while writing Apotheosis right <a href="https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLAAlkE59DUsQViEf7rcq1ZCVR77FdHKs6">here</a>.</p>
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